Love is
by moonlitememories
Summary: Collection of Sterek oneshots and drabbles, no promises for word count set on each. Gender of Stiles is subjected to change between each, and rating will range from M to T.
1. Chapter 1

**This one, its girl!Stiles, felt like trying it. Hate if you want, I don't really care, have more important things to read and write than responses to you're flames, so yeah, have fun with that. **

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Love is patient

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Stilinski was a genius.

The Adderall addiction and the fact that things like highlighter caps and pencil ends, as well as other people's food, always found its way into the juniors mouth didn't seem to detour this fact.

"You never answered me."

"Stiles."

Sometimes though?

"I just want to know."

"Stiles."

If someone really thought about it?

"Am I attractive to gay guys, that's all I want to know."

"For the love of-,"

Annoying as fuck trumped genius.

"Stella, will you stop asking!"

Pouting, the brunette rocked from side to side, rubber soles of her shoes squeaking slightly and her hands wringing together just so before bam, they were up in the air again, pulling at her hair and tapping the Hawaiian teen in the forehead in a quick flurry of movement.

"But Da-"

"Stiles, if I tell you you're pretty will you shut up?"

The pout that had managed to stay in place through all those movements stuck still even as the girl gave a nod, sloppy chestnut brown ponytail with its fly away strands and trundles that hadn't been pulled back with the rest of it fluttering around her face and neck with her side swept bangs flopping from the action. It was a nod though, and so with a quiet, slightly exasperated groan, Danny reached out, tucking his Spanish book under one arm and using the other hand to brush her hair out of her face.

Jackson was probably the only one that knew, even though a few of the other guys could agree, Stiles was probably the only girl that Danny would consider going straight for, ever, if like, any drunken endeavors came about. She was shorter than him, came to about his chin, but then again, that itself was fairly tall, since she went to McCall's nose. Her face had a slight heart shape to it, and her eyes were bright and heavily lashed, big and brown and perfect for any little puppy-esque looks she decided to throw around. Her skin was pale, not ghastly like Lydia Martin's, holding a slight olive tint to it with freckles that spread across her nose and cheeks, flecks under her eyes that would blend with the deep dimples that cut into her cheeks when she smiled.

Pretty enough, with a tight little slender body and flowing hair that fell in rich waves past her shoulders when she actually let it down, slender fingers that liked to wrap around things they shouldn't.

With a soft smile on his face, pressing his forehead to hers and brushing his fingers against her cheek, easily flicking away the hairs there, Danny watched her for a moment. If he had been straight, then yes, probably, this would have been the girl, with her big eyes and quick tongue. There was no clench in his stomach from their close proximity though, no boiling to his blood, and so he felt the need to sigh.

"Pretty girl."

There was that smile he knew, coupled with deep dimples and a small snort even as she flicked at his hair.

"It's too bad you're gay, because Lydia and Allison were talking the other day about how it's such a shame, and we'd make really cute ba-"

"And we're done here."

Watching him walk away, Stiles gave a grunt, lacking in any feminine quality and hiked her bag higher onto her shoulder, feeling the notebooks jostle about within it.

Notebooks.

That was her reminder, making a groan fall from her lips and an awkward bounce fall into her steps as she turned on her heel and headed for the direction of the parking lot.

Awkward.

Well, that should have been her name, should it?

She was pretty enough she knew, more of a plain kind of pretty, but still. She got a few looks when she and her Dad would go down to Florida for the summer with family, but nothing out of the ordinary.

But the pretty got ruined by the awkward, and oh, was she awkward.

Coltish limbs that she didn't know what to do with half the time, legs that liked to bounce under her desk when she was supposed to be sitting still, fingers that liked to jiggle on the top of her desk when she should have been taking a test. Arms that, whether it be frustration, joy or somewhere in between, would take their home in mid air and swish around more than her hair would, almost smacking anyone close enough in the face.

Awkward, because she knew more facts than even their statistics teacher, and yet she couldn't remember a simple equation for chemistry, let alone how to say she needed to go to the bathroom in Spanish. Awkward, because where most girls in Beacon Hill wanted a pretty little car or a trip in Jacksons shiny ride, she had a jeep, big and blue and smothered in dirt since it hadn't been washed in a few weeks.

Awkward, because she was the Sheriff's daughter.

Hand pushing on the double glass doors, a '_fwssssh_' sound fell from her lips as the glass and metal swung back on its hinges, earning her a quick look from a passing under classmen on their way to the bus.

"Keep walkin, little man."

There, that as something else.

Mouthy trumped pretty.

And God, if she wasn't mouthy then Scott wasn't obsessed with Allison.

Alright, maybe that was a little harsh, but still, point taken and accepted.

There were reasons that her upper arms and collar bone normally had a bruise or two on them, as well as why her wrists would hurt and her legs would burn from trying to run away from whichever pack member she had managed to anger that time around.

Usually, it was Derek, bringing out the worst side of her sarcasm and feeling the brunt of it in turn. Quick words, snarky words, that would fall from her tongue faster that she could be bothered to catch them, even the Adderall not helping at times.

Shit, she was out of Adderall, wasn't she.

"Oh, cmoooooon!" A moan, leaning against the dirty side of her jeep and letting her arms spread wide across the drivers side of the vehicle. Head tipping, ponytail swaying, the seventeen year old let out a long whine, having learned best from listening to Scott and Jackson try to grovel to Derek after so many months.

She was out of pills, and what, she had a week left till she got a new bottle?

"Fuck me."

"Hard, or sideways?"

The whine turned into a yelp, and with wide eyes she whipped around, looking at the equally startled form of Isaac with his wide blue eyes and wind tousled hair. His lacrosse gear was slung over his shoulder -that was right, practice had been canceled since Coach had gotten sick- and over his shoulder she could see the doors, the figure of Scott trudging after a livid looking Allison before the girl stomped away.

"Get in the jeep, Stiles."

Head jerking up, she made the motion to give him a look, ready to scold the boy that would sneak into her house at night and curl in her bed just so he wasn't alone and so she could chase the monsters away, but there were no monsters in his eyes, nor was there any single shade of blue. No, they were gold, that bright, glowing color that she was used to seeing when any one of the pack Beta's had a spike in heart rate.  
With a furrowed brow, she tried to open her mouth, feeling the need to question, but the rumbling growl from deep within his chest and the claw tipped hand on the small of her back stopped her.

"Isa-"

"Just get in the Jeep, Stilinski."

A push, probably as gentle as she would get from him in his current state, and she complied, rounding the hood of the blue vehicle to yank open the door. Just barely, with the jostling motion she used to lift herself up into it that had her seeing over the roof, she could see Scott, eyes hard and his jaw set as he started toward them.

"Stiles!"

Tugging from her pants, pulling her in and slamming the door behind her, Isaac gave her a pointed look, voice a mix between a whine and a growl. "Drive."

.

"You ditched me."

Spinning, legs curled under her in the computer chair, she listened to the furious sound of her friends voice through the phone. Once the chair stopped, having made a round and a half, she was facing the bed, able to watch over Isaac where he lay tangled up in her blankets, arms wrapped tightly around one of her pillows.

Voice low, she continued to watch him, soft eyes and gentle smile on her lips. He was peaceful at least, with his arms wrapped tight around her pillow and her blankets tucked about him.

"Can you not yell please?"

"What, someone there?"

The boy on her bed tensed slightly, curling in on himself a little and Stiles felt her eyes narrow at the sound that fell from his lips.

A whimper.

Isaac was whimpering.

"Ste-"

"Look, I love you and all in a totally non sexual way because your like my brother and that would be just weird and then Allison would probably shoot me even though she's still pissed at you about the whole making out with Lydia thing."

"Sti-"

"But Isaac is trying to sleep and you've been a major dick ever since the whole Allison thing, actually no ever since the whole wolf thing and I'm getting really sick of being the Robin to your Batman. So I'm just g'na go, because I'm really don't feel like dealing with you."

"Will you ju-"

"Night Scott."

Phone falling to clatter on top of the desk behind her, she didn't wait long enough to make sure the device actually shut down completely before she was out of the chair and wiggling her way out of her socks.

It was just Isaac, and with a glance over her shoulder Stiles concluded that yes, he was asleep.

So off her jeans went, hips rotating from side to side to shove the denim down and her hands pulling at her shirt, tangling her arms in it for a second before the cotton tank top joined the jeans in a pile on the floor. Kicking at the clothes, hopping on one foot for a moment before she could get the suddenly clingy fabric to fall away, the brunette gave a shiver, red boy shorts and white and yellow push up that Lydia had insisted she buy doing nothing to stave off the slight chill in her room.

"You make it a habit of being around my pack in your panties?"

The chance to scream wasn't even there, his voice ghosting over the back of her neck and his hand clamping tight over her mouth. She gasped though as best she could, hands flying out and up and trying to pull at his.

One was clamped to her mouth while the other was braced against the wall beside her head, fingers spread and the tips still housing blunt, short, relatively harmless human nails.

Derek was in her room.

Derek was in her room and she was...she was in her underwear between Derek and a fucking wall, and Isaac was sleeping ten feet away in her bed.

God hated her, didn't he?

Mumbling, stuck behind his hand still with the best motion she could make being to open her mouth a little and lave her tongue across the flesh.

"Stiles."

He spun her around, head smacking back onto the wall and she groaned quietly, hearing the rustling sounds from the bed as Isaac reacted to the motion just enough to have Derek tensing.

"Thought you were done sneaking in here, sour wolf."

Eyes narrowed and his face set in that usual scowl of his, she had to fight the urge to pull a face at him, but by the look she received, she wasn't doing too well.

"I mean, unless you have a feti-ah, ah, ow, okay, I get it, I-ow!"

His hand was tight on her jaw, fingers scrambling up to try and pry his own away, because that was going to bruise, but no, there would be none of that it seemed.

And thoughts of Isaac sleeping went out the window, replaced instead by a fleeting bit of gratefulness that her dad had taken double shifts with the influx of bodies piling up around Beacon Hill.

"Derek, that fuckin' hurts!"

A squeal, and then she was sitting on the floor, legs bent awkwardly and her hands holding her own jaw. There was a yelp, loud and sharp and then Issac gave a flail, reminding her of his presence once more, throwing the blankets about on her bed and looking down at her with wide, worried eyes.

"Stiles?"

He was focusing, eyes intent on her face even as he scrambled from the bed to crouch before her, reaching out to touch her only to hesitate. Because already, her hands were flailing, trying to gently ease him away at the same time as she tried to cover herself, because hell, she was in her underwear for Gods sake.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, go back to be-don't look at me like that that, go back to bed Isaac."

And look at her he did, for he was watching her, dark blue eyes narrowed, calculating and a bit unsure. There were wrinkles in his brow, and so she reached out, forgetting thoughts of covering herself or trying to fix her hair where it had half fallen out of its ponytail, instead running her fingertips across the lines on his head, to try and smooth them away. His own hands wrapped around her wrists, holding them and pulling them away a little so he could look from her fingers to her eyes once more.

"Stiles?"

"Hm?"

There was a flush to her pups cheeks, and, deliberately it seemed, he was avoiding looking anywhere but her eyes.

"Why are you in your underwear?"

Her response was a blink, a moment to look down at herself because oh, she was, wasn't she? Well, that was embarrassing. And so she screeched his name, failing once more and voice carrying enough it threatened to wake the neighbors.

"Isaac!"

.

Door to her jeep slamming, body jerking from the motion, Stiles gave a grunt. Her hair was free falling, she'd been too occupied with finding a t-shirt that fit right to even be bothered with tying it back. Hale house looming over head, she felt the slight chill, the cold brush of air against her almost bare arms, and damn, she should have brought a jacket.

But the house was there, tall and dark, burned out in the most sinister of ways. It didn't stop her though, not the chills down her spine nor the voice in her head questioning her sanity.

Her body was fidgety, fingers twitching and clenching and unable to stay still and clenched at her sides, pulling at her shirt and belt loops instead.

"Aaaarighty Stilinski, let's go."

Taking the steps two at a time, wasting no time, she cracked her knuckles, pulling at her hair and checking her wrists for a tie, but there was nothing.

"Derek!"

Ballsy enough, she shoved the door open, listened to it slam back against the wall and give a rattle. The wall groaned in protest, and the floor creaked under her feet, but it didn't stop her, hands fluttering once more as she continued to walk.

It was dark, normally was in the ruined house, and only three of the rooms actually had all four walls, not counting the upstairs bedroom and a bathroom with a scorched shower.

"Derek!"

No sound, but he was there, he was never far from the house, not at six something in the morning, there were no Beta's to train that morning, the past two weeks on non stop had given them a few days of leisure to replenish themselves.

So he was hiding from her.

No, that was a stupid thing to think.

Derek Hale didn't hide.

Derek stalked, she thought, taking the stairs slowly, eyes scanning about. It was just as dark upstairs, pale shafts of light that filtered through the holes and the cracks lighting the way, altering her vision a little with the beams of pale morning glow.

He was up there though, somewhere in the drafty place that smelled of ash, somewhere In the burned out building that stank of soot that really, the pack should be helping to fix. This was like, their den after all, wasn't it?

Jackson practically lived there anymore, what with his parents like, never being home, since he was seventeen after all and could surely handle himself. She knew that Erica and Boyd frequented there often, had she been a wolf like the rest she would have been able to catch that their scent was only a few hours old. Scoot had been turning up more and more often, and she knew that when Isaac wasn't curled up at her house like he was most of the time, he was here at Dereks.

"Sour wo-"

A woosh of movement, hair whipping around her face and the air leaving her lungs as she was slammed into the wall. Her head tipped back and her eyes went wide, chest giving a heave and body pressing tight to his. Because he was right there, face close to hers and his electric blue eyes bright. She had heard the slam of it followed by the creak, his hands pressed tight against the wall and his breath fanning against her loose hair.

"What do you want."

No answer, staring up at him instead with her wide eyes and breath caught in her throat.

There was a deep growl from within his chest, his eyes watching her with a narrowed bit of force before his mouth was on hers, hot and hard and demanding. Hand fisted in her hair, his other clamped at her waist, pulling her tighter against him and flushing their hips together.

A gasp, a moan, her fingers knotting in the fabric of his black shirt, legs hitching up to wrap around the familiar groves of his hips.

This, this was home, with his hands clamped tight around her waist as he spun them about, his mouth ferocious against hers as he threatened to devour her very being, walking them to the bedroom she was familiar with. This was what she was used to, as she used her weight to grind against him with every step till his grip on her tightened and she was ripped away, only to be thrown onto the bed where she landed with a bounce and a laugh.

"Someone's handsy tonight."

She tried to let it out in a tease, but no, there would be none of that, for his mouth was on her throat then, lips suckling, fangs dragging slightly across the jut of her collarbone and his fingers pushing at her pants.

"A fucking month, Stiles." A shredding sound, and the denim was gone, phone clattering to the floor as the ruined fabric was tossed aside and then her shirt quickly followed. His hands were everywhere, pulling at her and pawing her like a man starved, and with the way he sealed his mouth over hers, it made her wonder if the assumption was true. "My Camero still smells like sex."

Panting, drawing her legs up to use her feet and shuck him of his own jeans, the brunette let out a whine. Back arching away from the bed when his hands slipped around her waist and lifted, drawing her body into a now and letting her head fall back, her hair pooled a little, feeling the scrape of his claws. Shivers chased down her spine as his fingers flicked at the clasp for her bra, and then that was gone, the lacy pink replaced instead by his teeth and tongue, making her cry out.

Fingers fisting in his hair, the quick glance she could manage told her that his shirt was indeed gone, and the hard feel of him against her thigh, scorching with heat and pulsing, had her spreading her legs wider. And there, he fell into the groove there, peeling her panties away with more force than necessary as if just to pull that breathy laugh from her lips once more.

"Patience, sour wo-a-ah!" Her words melted into a moan, nails biting hard into his back while her own was still held in its arched form.  
It had been a month too long, body feeling the slight burn from the stretch, but God, she'd missed it, the way he filled her up to the point that she almost could breath, making her chest heave. The way he was looking down at her, eyes glowing Alpha red from his pent up frustrations and his fangs bared a little didn't do anything to help, making her instead tip her head back to expose her neck in a submissive manner.

Fuck, she wasn't going to last.

"Derek!"

She could feel it, the swelling of his chest against hers as he took a deep breath, and then off he went, hammering into her hard enough that it was all she could do to wrap her legs around his hips and hold on. Harsh thrusts, sending her body jerking across the bed a few inches before he jerked her back down, his claw tipped hands falling to wrap around her hips and pull her into each of his motions.

Hands fisting in her hair, they clenched there, pulling before falling to claw at the sheets.

Huh, there were actually sheets this time.

He must have been expecting her.

"Oh, fuck, fuck!"

It was hot, the way he slid against her, the almost painful way he stretched her, how her hands had to fly up to press against the headboard -when had they gotten that far up the bed?- and she had to use the added leverage to thrust back against him. She couldn't keep up though, and already, Stiles felt herself crumbling, breath panting out quicker, head rolling to the side and her dark eyes turned to slits. There was a plea on her lips, because she was close, and yea, it had been too long, what had she been thinking, stretching them out so far?

A quick series of thrusts, erratic and sharp, and she shattered with a scream, feeling the vibrations of his growl against her throat. The way he swelled in her as her body began to throb and leak, tension fading from her limbs to be replaced by small twitches that she couldn't seem to stop, made her breath catch once more, because it was wet and hot as he shot inside her, painting her insides.

His nipping was replaced by soft kisses against the flesh of her throat that had been reddened and made raw by his scruff. Carefully, he pulled her close, not moving from her, because they'd tried that once, and hell, they'd forgotten that he was a dog after all, and dogs knotted.

Crying after sex was never fun, not when her body was still limp and singing praises in the form of his name, whimpered under her breath every now and again.

"A month."

He was still on that then, she noted dryly as he tucked her close on his side, their legs tangled together and his body still burrowed within hers for about the next fifteen minutes.

Thank God in heaven her father had agreed to put her on the pill.

For the cramps, of course, not because she wanted hot werewolf sex without the hassle of a condom, what, no, never.

"Fine," Groggy, clinging to him, she was always clingy after sex, when he was all stated and actually let her cling, worse so when she was out of Adderall. Shit, she still needed Adderall. "Next time, you explain to Scott why I reek of you."

His grip tightened on her, and the unhappy growl that came from within him had her poking at his chest.

"Sti-"

"I know, I know, don't say other men's names in bed with you." Exasperation, eyes drooping, body's singing settling to a happy hum. "Let me have my god damn after glow."

"Go to sleep Stiles."

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Love is kind


	2. Chapter 2

**Regular genders, but be warned, ye be wading in deep waters. Evidently, I was feeling angst for this one, don't ask, I don't get to pic my muse. Review would be lovely, so I can see what you all think of how I'm doing? Either way, enjoy. **

**And don't...don't drown, alright?**

** I happen to like my readers, and I love each and every one of you who favorited this story, and Special kind of Disaster. I keep getting emails in the middle of classes, saying something been favorited, and I can't help but grin like a fool. **

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Love is kind

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Christmas vacation was something students looked forward to.

Christmas vacation meant no school, that much was obvious, that little fact a given, because really, that was what the word vacation entailed, didn't it?

Vacation.

Va-ca-tion.

Noun.

Vacation: A period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation, or travel; recess or holiday: Schoolchildren are on vacation now.

Vacation meant no homework, since, as the name stated, homework was work to be done at home, and well, around Beacon Hill at least, most children weren't actually in their homes during Christmas vacation. More often than not, they were at a friends house, or a relatives place, or even down at the local diner splurging away pennies and dimes on hot chocolate and candy cane pancakes, or at the mall, doing the last minute rush before the big tree day to get any presents they needed.

Christmas.

Christ-mas.

'Nother noun.

Christmas: the annual festival of the Christian church commemorating the birth of Jesus; celebrated on December 25th and now generally observed as a legal holiday and an occasion for exchanging gifts.

It's more of a Christian holiday, but religious aspects aside, it's still a holiday nonetheless, kinda like how the Jews celebrate Hanukkah and the Atheists...do they even celebrate Christmas?

Anyway.

Christmas meant no school for the better part of a month.

Christmas also meant waking up one morning out of the year -yaknow, the day that wasn't your birthday, because that didn't really count as Christmas, even though it seemed just as good when you were younger and the world revolved around GI Joe's and Barbie Dolls.- and getting to run as fast as you wanted to wherever the family had set up the tree, and tearing through mountains and mountains of boxes and wrapping paper till you found everything you wanted.

Also, Christmas stood for pulling out the stretchy pants, because the dinner was just about as bad as Thanksgiving, as if the American nation needed any other excuse to over indulge themselves and lead the way to the country's obesity problem.

Then it meant Black Friday, which was like a holiday all its own, with crazy females going at top notch speeds through poor, defenseless stores like Wal-mart and Target, possibly K-mart depending on the location, and tearing through every aisle they could. Black Friday was probably like, the equivalent of the Darwinism Theory, trapped in a store.

So, all in all, Christmas vacation was something that students and teachers alike looked forward too.

Most the time, it was something the parents dreaded, but really, they got over it, were too distracted with trying to hide presents and keep an eye on their textbook-less, classroom free children for a few weeks.

For Stiles though, the whole: looking forward to Christmas vaca like, all year, thing?

Yea, that wasn't the case.

"I just need you to cover for me."

Brow furrowed, mouth hanging open slightly, the brunette, buzz cut boy just stared at the wall across from him, a hot, pained feeling settling deep within his chest.

Scott knew, the damn bastard, of all the people that Stiles had ever spoken with, his supposed best friend knew better than to ask anything of him at the time.

One week a year, the only time when Stiles never left the house, only left his room enough to throw some food together, because if he didn't, then his father wouldn't eat.

One week, where the Sheriff went to work and didn't smile at his coworkers, didn't get any phone calls from his son, reminding him to eat dinner and to take a nap on the couch since he insisted on pulling double shifts like the machine he wasn't.

And then the very last day, there was nothing.

December 25th, the Stilinski house shut down.

Every year it was the same.

There was no tree up, standing tall and proud in the livingroom.

There were no bright, flashing lights hanging on smelly pine branches.

No presents littered about in flashy wrapping paper an oversized bows.

No Christmas cookies or really any feast of the sorts.

Never a carol sung, never a Christmas hymn whispered, and never was a church attended.

Every single year, the same dark, dreary, grey cloud of despair settled upon the family of two, clinging to every pore they had and oozing its way under their skin.

"I really...I don't...I can't, Scott."

It had happened on a Sunday.

Fitting, with the air cold and quiet.

Winters in Beacon Hill never got icy or snowy, no, they were too far west for that.

It would get chilly though, and the nights became long just as the light became pale and wane throughout the day.

A Sunday, the day of rest, a day of celebration of the best of occasions, better even than birthdays, because it was Christmas after all.

But, that Christmas morning, that pale Sunday when the sun had barely even had time to peek above the ground to glance out at the dark windowed houses and the people who still slumbered, God must have been sleeping.

"Stiles, come on!" Whining, sharp and pathetic, pulling his eyes back into focus, making his mind make a bit of a circle and pull away from his depressing thoughts, if only for a moment. "It's Christmas Eve, I have to see Alliso-."

Allison.

Of course.

Vaguely, Stiles could remember a time when he had come before the girl with her pretty face an mischievous eyes.

But that felt like it had been years ago.

"Christmas Eve, Scott. I'm...I..." Shaking his head, as if the other boy would actually be able to see the action, head rolling from side to side on the back of his computer chair. "I just can't."

The response he got was a growl, frustration and disbelief, as if he had done something wrong.

When hadn't he done something wrong?

"The fuck are you bein'so selfish for lately?"

His eyes bulged a little, and slowly, the gangly seventeen year old who hadn't touched a single Adderall all week sat up, feeling his body protest.

"I'm being selfish?" Laughter in his voice, though it was more hollow and pained rather than humored deluge of sound that it usually was. Tipping forward till his body curled onto itself, head resting in his free hand, he gave another chuckle, this one sounding wet unlike the first. "Right, of course. Sure Scott, I'll go drive to your house, pick you up and take you to see Allison, who lives on the road where she died."

"Shit, Stiles, I di-"

"Yea, I can do that, lemme just go get my keys."

"Stiles, I wasn't tr-"

Eyes closing, tongue peeking out so that he could wet his dry, chapped, cracked and peeling lips, the boy felt his hand tighten around the phone.

"Fuck you, McCall."

Something that the boy was known for doing, even when he was beyond the point of rage, was saying goodbye on the phone when he was finished with someone, even if it was a voicemail.

This time however, he simply clicked the red button to end the call, letting the phone slip from his grasp and break into the same three pieces it always did when it was broken apart.

.

He wasn't going to be sleeping any.

That much was obvious, even as he lay curled on his side, fingers clenching emptily around the air that was brave enough to inhabit the space between the digits.

When did he ever sleep on this day, had he ever, since the accident?

No, he didn't think so.

Christmas wasn't for sleeping.

No, his Christmas was for grieving.

There would be no sleep, no reprieve from the sadness that had settled deep within his bones.

Nothing to ease away the way the flesh under his eyes had turned spongy and taken a slight purple, bruised tint to it.

Sometime today, he would need to eat.

But really, what would be the point in making anything, when his father wouldn't eat, and he himself wouldn't be able to stomach whatever food touched his tongue.

And so instead, he just let himself lay there, with his tired body and his slowly reeling mind.

He would be able to see her, if he closed his eyes.

That was all it would take, and then she would be there again, smiling at him with her warm brown eyes and her shiny blond hair and her sweet, soft voice.

Her fingers would be tracing her always perfectly kept nails across his short hair, and there would be a bit of scolding in his voice, why wasn't he outside practicing his lacrosse or making sure his dad wasn't pushing himself too hard?

Elizabeth Stilinski had always told him, that they had to remind his father, or else John wouldn't eat.

Today though, the two of them could live a day without eating.

His window was locked.

The window was locked and the curtains were drawn tight against the outside world, because he really just...he couldn't deal with them, not today.

He'd personally gone to Erica and Boyd the week before, when he had felt it starting, when he had actually noticed what the date was, an had begged them, pleaded with them practically on his knees, that they keep Isaac away until after Christmas.

He loved the boy, bruised and battered as he was, because he was his to protect, his to nurse and care for and chase the monsters away for.

But how could he chase away the boys monsters, when he couldn't even fight off his own at the moment?

Erica though, she had just lifted him up, fixed his jacket and patted his cheek, telling him that there was nothing to worry about. She and Boyd would take care of him, and Lydia offered that she and Jackson help, the male nodding his head while his eyes filled with quiet understanding, and the look the she-wolf's dark skinned mate gave him said that no, they didn't mind.

Friends, they were friends.

Better friends than Scott.

Better friends than Scott had been for a long while yet.

And so his window was locked, so that they wouldn't venture near, he couldn't deal with them.

His window was locked and his eyes were open to the point that they burned and he was forced to blink, so he wouldn't have to see her again, because that was torture.

Torture, when she wasn't even there.

Quietly, after many hours of simply laying there, he swore he heard the sound of shuffling at his window, a quiet scratching sound. But, before he could really dwell on it, the sound was gone, and with a quiet sigh, he wrote it off as nothing more than the wind, because they had promised.

It wasn't until his bedroom door creaked open quietly and a low, drawn out whine filled the air did his eyes focus, finding the large black dog staring at him with sorrowful red eyes.

"Go away, Der,"

He didn't have the strength, nor the desire, to really put any effort into trying to banish the beast away, and so it came as no surprise when the furred creature wandered over to him, large paws making quiet thumps on his floor and his tail dragging.

And he didn't object when the beast crawled into his bed, stretching out and pressing close to him, cool wet nose pressed against his throat.

There was pain, because God, it hurt, his chest felt tight and his head felt light and he just wanted to be numb for once, but no, the older boy wouldn't allow that.

And so instead, he curled into the soft, warm fur, fingers lacing into it and his eyes falling shut, and then, then the tears fell, the floodgates that he had been holding back so well, had been keeping himself as strong as he could for his father, it all broke, shattered right then and there. Quickly, the fur in which he had buried his face grew wet, and there was a series of cracks, before the fur was flesh and there were arms around him, holding him tight and safe a moment after wrangling some pants on. Flesh, warm skin and hard bone, things that would protect, strong muscles that held him close as he let himself weep, head tucked against the others bare chest.

His alpha didn't speak a word apart from a sad sigh of his name, just held him there, offering anything that he needed to take, an so he clung, because it hurt, hurt like it always did.

As the sun decided to peek through the curtains and his mind began to register that, this was the day, this was when she had died, it didn't even take him a second to decide, wrapped up and collected in Dereks strong arms.

Christmas would be alright this year.

...

..

.

It does not envy


	3. Chapter 3

**Regular genders, and look, I felt humorous! I had two of my friends dying in a class I'm not even supposed to be in, and the teacher looking at me like I'd grown another head because I read it out loud! I didn't feel bad about the angst from the last chapter, ha, no, wrong answer there buddy boy o'pal of mine, but I did seem to be in an exceptionally snarky mood with this entry. No smut in this one, sorry, not in a very smut-a-rific mood, but I'll get back to that, prolly go an read some smut so I have somethin to make my brain giggle over.**

**I wonder if anyone ever really reads the author note because most the time I just ramble even if there is useful information in here...hmm...**

**Anyway, Read, Enjoy, Favorite, Follow, Review.**

**I don't ask for much, not really?**

**Right?**

**And I do love Lydia, to death I really do, and she and Stiles, in my mind at least, would get into the worst of trouble if they were best friends. So, I made it a win-win: gave Stiles a best girl-friend and gave Lydia a best gay-friend!**

* * *

It does not envy

...

..

.

Stiles was a lot of things.

Easily entertained.

Driven.

A hard worker.

Helpful.

Useful.

Useless.

Irritating.

Clueless.

Spastic.

Intuitive.

Selfless.

Always two steps behind and one to the left of everyone.

An outsider, even within the pack, because really, he wasn't pack, not in the way that it counted.

He didn't have fur that grew out of his skin. There were no claws and fangs and other sharp, dangerous extremities that became present when heart rates got elevated. No heightened senses, no extra strength or super speed or anything like that to make him less human than he was.

Because for all the things that he was, that in itself was something that he would never be able to escape, not like he how he would be able to outgrow his uselessness, or his short attention span.

Stiles was human.

And that measly little fact set him apart from the rest of the pack, because he was human and they weren't, and if they weren't then they were mates, like Lydia was to Jackson.

And he wasn't a mate.

He was just Stiles, human, flimsy, bendable, breakable, human Stiles.

And humans were bitter things at the worst of times, fickle things and envious things that had skeletons in their closets and things that liked to go bump in the night.

And currently?

Watching the way that Derek was smiling at the pale blonde girl, listening to the way that his deep, normally sarcastic voice had taken a lower, seductive syrupy tone?

Stiles was a jealous human.

"Boo, come back to me,"

Gentle words in her usually sharp, airy tone, drawing his attention back to his favorite girl instead by the hush of them, the soothing quality they held to them, as if he were something to be treaded lightly around.

With the mood he felt entitled to, Stiles couldn't find any fault, even if he couldn't tap into said mood.

Instead, his dark brown eyes jerked to her own imploring hazel pair, with her concerned pouty mouth and frustrated jaw.

Those were wrinkles on her brow, between her eyes and across her forehead, that was his fault, because Lydia Martin didn't frown like that unless she was worried, and more often than not, she was worried about him. Or Jackson, but since they had gotten the Kamina thing under control, it was mainly just him as of late.

"Still here, Sugar Mama."

A displeasured sound left her lips and her elbows folded atop the counter of their booth table, shoulders lifting and her center dipping a little, watching him with a raised brow.

Disbelief.

Of course she didn't believe him, with the frustrated tone to his voice and the exhausted set in his shoulders. And so instead, never one for subtlety, when his eyes decided to drift once more in the settled silence, Lydia turned, looking where he looked and her eyes narrowed on the image their Alpha created.

"Disgusting," He could practically hear her lips curling up in that shockingly threatening snarl that she used to keep Jackson, Isaac and himself inline, and saw the way that her head tipped just so. Her eyes were probably narrowed, and the skin on her nose was probably wrinkled up a little, but she wouldn't look any less lovely than she always did.

Lydia did have a way of being perfect, even when she was naked and confused and sitting in his shower while he tried to help her with his eyes shut tight for the sake of her modesty.

"She isn't even pretty you know, her nose is positively horrible,"

She was baiting him.

"Looks more like a beak."

And just like always, he took it with a snap of his jaws.

"Her hair is absolutely atrocious."

A pale, callused hand reached out, taking one of the salty fries from the heaping plate before them and dipping it into his chocolate shake.

"Definitely been hittin the bottle too much."

That earned a giggle from her, a devious little smile, and she plucked the chocolate ice cream coated potato length before he could eat it and tossed it into her own mouth.

"Her eyes are funny shaped."

Grunting, making an offended sound even as she munched, he took another fry and repeated the repeated the ritual, eating it before she could.

"Its called bulged. Kinda like a Sugar Baby."

"I think its called a Bush Baby."

"Whatever, same thing."

Snorting, she choked on her laughter, looking at him with glee in his eyes.

"Her voice sounds broken."

Neither noticed the Alpha looking their way with narrowed eyes, something like frustration in the electric blue orbs, nostrils flared and his jaw set just a bit too tightly.

"Prolly damaged something with all the cock she's been suckin."

Smiling widely, Lydia let out a slight purr under her breath, face brightening.

"Her hips look funny."

The girl looked like she could start simpering, Derek having stroked her ego well enough to get the information he needed, an so he obliged her as she snatched a napkin, tracing her number down with a pink pen and sliding it into his jeans pocket.

"Probably not used to having to sit with her legs closed."

More laughter, not as quiet, because really, it was a public diner, there was no need for the imposed silence that they normally had to have at the restaurants that they went to.

A usual spot for the two teens, and so neither one really paid any mind to the figures that passed them till two hands planted themselves firmly on their table, fingers spread and claw tipped. Voice deep, leather jacket straining, Derek spoke in low tones, a scowl on his face.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Well, we were, Sour Wolf, until you decided to join us." Snark, tone biting, eyes narrowed even though there was a smile on his face about a mile wide and just as deep, none of the warmth or stretch managing to meet his eyes. Instead, he gave a huff, continuing on before the eldest could take the chance to speak, turning to his companion. "Sorry, Sugar Mama, but I've gada bounce."

Lydia just waved a hand at him in her usual dismissive way, looking uninterested as she sampled another milkshake dipped fry.

"Go on and get, Boo, n'I expect a ring later, lemme know how Daddy's doin."

Stretching back into his jacket, sliding past Derek as if the man wasn't even there, Stiles gave her a smile, warmer and softer, a much more pleasant look on his features.

"Sure thing, I'll peep in after he leaves for second shift."

Tossing the words over his shoulder, he swiftly turned away, head high and his hands stuffed in his pockets, continuing on as if he hadn't just brushed their leader aside.

It wasn't until the door swung shut behind him and the pair heard the sound of his jeep roaring to life that Derek turned his eyes to a rather smug looking Lydia.

"What was that?"

Smirking, leaning back and swallowing the small mouthful she had, Lydia gave a shrug, knowing full well the kind of answer that he wanted, and really, she'd be damned if she gave it to him.

"Human nature Derek, we wouldn't expect you to understand."

...

..

.

It does not boast


	4. Chapter 4

**So, random fact for the authors note: When I'm not working on this at school, in my classes where I would probably get pulled down to the principles office if someone actually like, took the time to notice what exactly it is I'm writing, I'm usually sitting at home at my desk to work on this, and I've noticed that there's either a bag of grapes or snow peas next to me. **

**Nother note: I need to get WD40 for my chair, omg you have no idea. I go to rotate and adjust and it sounds like I'm murdering someone!**

**Alas, look, that be smut ahead!**

**Finally, figured it was deserved after the...two? entries I've made you go without.**

**So, enjoy, review, and have a good time!**

**Special thanks to Sterek's beta, mega kudos to you for sticking with me through the fem!Stiles, and just know that I seriously love you, because only person to review on this is my friend, and she doesn't even like Sterek. So right now, you're my godsend.**

**Anywho, scurry along to the Sterek~**

* * *

It does not boast

...

..

.

"I got a promotion at work."

Humans were fickle things.

"I got a new car."

Material things.

"Guess who got a girlfriend!"

Deprived things that found their entertainment and daily giggle from the fact that they managed to one-up someone.

"I got so wasted last night."

They went about it like it was some sort of challenge.

"Someone got lucky last night."

A game of sorts, to see who could get the better end of any deal.

"My parents are paying for me to go down to San Fran for the week."

And frankly?

"I get to go down to Miami for spring break."

Stiles was well past being sick of it.

Growling at an impressive magnitude for a human, he gave a sharp kick, making the locker door vibrate slightly as it slammed shut, the crisp metallic crunch echoing in the loud hallway.

From the locker beside him, a short freshmen girl gave a start, grey eyes wide and her blond hair bouncing a little as she whirled away from him to disappear into the precarious safety of the crowd.

"Stiles, ma-"

"Perfectly fine Scott, everything is 100% a-ok." Grunting, hoisting his bag higher onto his shoulder and jostling his lacrosse stick slightly, the human gave the beta a barely concealed glare. Really, his 'best-friend' wasn't exactly on his good list right now, having gone as far as to take sides against Derek, their alpha, when it came to the topic of the new hunters that had been loitering around the county.

The boy was a bit stupid, little on the daft side, he knew that, everyone really seemed to know that, even Allison knew that since she had skipped town with her father a few months past and had yet to return. Everybody knew it, and so the stupid decisions he made didn't really come as much of a shock. But to suggest that they take up an alliance with the new hunters, when the last time they had done that, it had resulted in some of their own almost being killed?

If it looks like a squirrel, sounds like a squirrel, then it must be a squirrel.

"Stupid is as stupid does."

A bit of an arm flail, effectively smacking Scott in the face with his lacrosse stick and almost managing to rack himself on the water fountain, and with his arms wrapped tightly around the cold metal to keep himself from falling, the brown eyed boy looked up at his friend in exasperation.

"Isaac, for the love of god dude, don't do that to me!"

In response, the blue eyed boy gave him a sheepish smile, cheeks flushed a little and his pale curls tussled from weaving through the afternoon rush. He was a little taller than Stiles, a little broader, but that didn't stop him from smacking his hand onto the beta wolfs shoulder, earning him laughter in response and an arm flung around the back of his neck, making him duck slightly.

Touchy-feely, someone help him, but Isaac had been so touchy ever since he had taken the bite.

Part of him, the rational side, the part that looked out for the abused boy more than he did himself, knew it was kind of like a compensation thing.

The only real touches he had known for the longest time had been painful and harsh, and so something as simple and playful as an arm around someones shoulders, a pat on the back or even a hug from Stiles' leading lady was something that he responded wonderfully to.

And lately, he'd taken to initiating the touching and the pack embraces.

Currently, one of those pack embraces was what was leading Stiles away from the flabbergasted looking form of his 'best-friend'.

"Sti-"

"Derek called a pack meeting," The earnest way that Isaac said the words as he tugged him along was enough to have Scott blinking in confusion, as if the fact that Stiles was considered pack while he himself wasn't had never occurred to him before.

There was a squeak of rubber, Scot had stopped walking, looking at them with a ridiculous look on his face.

"Stiles isn't pack."

The words hurt, because really, he wasn't, not in the ways that it counted, not it someone decided they really wanted to look at pack logistics and think about it. No fur or claws, no sharp pointy teeth or anything of those things that could set him apart from the average human.

Average, breakable human.

Yes, of course, he forgot that, thank you Scott, he needed that reminder.

Because he's not, yaknow, fucking the Alpha or anything.

Nah, not at all.

"Mom's always been pack."

Erica, with her back pressed against the cool metal of a locker and her arms folded under her leather clad chest, watching them with something fierce in her glowing golden eyes.

Erica, who was never far from Isaac, looked out for the fellow wolf like Lydia did a pair of shoes going on sale.

Erica, who insisted recently with calling him Mom.

"You're the one who isn't pack."

That was a sneer on her face, burgundy red lips twisted and pulled back just enough so that the tips of her fangs showed.

And damn him, but that shouldn't have been pride making his chest swell like that, but it was, because that was one of his girls, and he had seen first hand just how hard she worked for that kind of control.

And then thats Erica at his side, wrapping her arms possessively around his waist and pulling him along like Isaac hadn't been doing just a fine job of leading him into the parking lot anyways, because, oh, it's only lunch time, isn't it?

"Wait, why's there a meeting now?"

See, that was the thing that bugged him. No, not the fact that he was being led out of the school an snuck past a security guard by a girl, no, he was used to that. Not even the fact that he didn't object when she manhandled him into his jeep, Isaac and Boyd already buckled in the back in their designated seats. Or even the fact that ahead of him, he could already see a shiny silver Porsche peeling out of the lot and down the block.

Should have kinda bothered him that he mentally acknowledged the back of his baby as the permanent seats of two males of the occasional furry kind.

It figured that what bothered him would be the fact that Derek was pulling them out of school.

"Erica, why the fuck is there a meeting, right now. Who died, is Peter back, did Derek get in tro-"

Motor mouth, she'd learned to shut him up quick, so the hand that was clamped over his lips didn't really shock him much, just as the tongue that laved against her palm didn't seem to gross her out in the slightest.

"Argent's back."

Oh.

Yea, that was panic worthy.

.

"I just finished helping put these floors in, Sourwolf," Exasperation, expression a strange mixture of amusement and annoyance like it usually was where the older man was concerned, which was more often than not since John had finally come to grasps that his son was the human liaison for the Hale pack and therefore practically lived in the newly renovated house, what with the ungodly hours he got pulled out of his own bed and the fact that Derek's mattress smelled more like him than it did Derek. "So lets not ruin them with your back-and-forthy-ness, please and thank you much a many."

Pausing briefly for however long it took to give him that typical scrunched eyebrows, glary eyed, slightly constipated faced look that the Alpha gave him when he said something that evidently wasn't needed, the man continued his walking.

"Derek, I'm sure its no-"

Growling, and wide-eyed, just like that, Isaac was cut off, his blue eyes widening and his fists clenching on his legs in slight panic, making Stiles scowl in turn.

"Quit your fucking whining, Big Bad."

"Sti-"

"No, I get it Jackson, trust me, I get it. The Argents are back in town, hunters are back in the territory and now all hell's'na break loose, 'dently. Anyone notice Allison wasn't at school though? And uh, I woulda, news flash, pissed at him or not, I would've been the first to know about anything that the Argents are up to, Scott can't keep his mouth shut long enough to know when he shouldn't say something. And if someone had bothered to keep an eye on the paper, then you woulda known that the property's up for sale, has been for the last two-three weeks."

Combing his finger back through his short hair, Stiles gave a grunt, looking up at the fuming Alpha and then the rest of his pack with narrowed brown eyes.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Means they're leaving, smartass."

Another groan, looking up to where the rest of his pack was seated. Derek had yet to stop his pacing, hands folded behind his back and his brow furrowed deep in thought.

"You don't know that for a fa-"

"Jackson, for once, will you just shut up?"

They were stretched out everywhere with no real order to how they lay, sprawled across furniture and the like, ignoring the usual agitation of the testy Alpha. Danny and Isaac, cuddly and cute and pressed together in one of the overstuffed armchairs that wasn't big enough for the both of them even though they seemed bent on making it work. Erica and Boyd, the latter sitting on the floor between her legs while the she-wolf sat on a chair, nails dragging across the top of his dark head. Jackson and Lydia, stretched out on the couch with their legs tangled together and their fingers meshed.

"Pack dismissed."

Six sets of eyes snapped up to him in bewilderment, seven if someone really felt like counting the nostrils flared annoyed look that Derek was giving him, but he got that look a lot, so it probably didn't count.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Actually, it probably did, but it was Derek, so he felt like ignoring it.

Ignoring it didn't seem to work when the beta's were still staring at him in shock -alright, sue him, so he'd never dismissed the pack before, didn't really actually probably have the right but he'd always wanted to, so fuck you very much he was going to whether he could or not, he had the power to do it anyways, no need to try and guilt trip- and an annoyed, disbelieving Alpha who had stopped his pacing.

A few minutes ticked by, his eyes scanning about, and with a sigh through clenched teeth, he tried again, more of a bark and bite in his voice than they were used to.

"Dismissed!"

It took about three maybe four minutes, but between doors slamming and fingers scrambling to grab shoes, the house was empty.

And those three maybe four minutes was all it took for a hand to close around his throat and yank him from his chair, slamming him back into the living room wall and winding him all in one blow. Gasping, chest heaving a little, there wasn't much room for breathing, not with the body pressed so close to his and the deliciously familiar fangs brushing dangerously against his neck. And so, light-headed, Stiles let out a slight whine, never one to be defeated.

"What was that."

A growl, the deep, vibrating kind that sent shivers chasing up his spine, making his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

And God, someone help him, but glowing cranberry eyes followed every little movement the wet muscle made.

"You're the one that said I needed to, to state my dominance in the, _nnhn_, in the pack," Breathy, head tipped and his eyes narrowed, that was a leg pressed tight between his thighs, that was a hand on the jut of his hip, forcing his body to grind down a little while the other still sat clenched around his throat. Those were teeth, sharp, canine teeth, nipping at the bottom of his jaw and drawing a line up the side of his face, that was a tongue that lapped roughly just behind his ear.

Another growl, something deep that he didn't understand, but the mouth pressed to his, the painful clacking of teeth and that angry tongue, those were things he knew, things that made him inhale sharply as the hand fell away from his throat to tug at his clothes instead. Plucking, stretching, claw-tipped fingers pulled at cotton and denim and shredded it away as quickly as they could, earning another whine as his back arched away from the cool wall.

That was dark, wavy hair that his fingers were buried knuckle deep in, twisted tightly and holding on for dear life, because damn it all, he knew what was coming next, could already feel the burn of it.

And those were fingers in his mouth for a minute, long enough to get coated with his saliva and then his leg was being lifted, hooked over the other man's hips and, and _oh, oh fuck, yes_, those were fingers, two of them, wider than his own and longer, fucking up into him and drawing out a long, high keening whine. His teeth managed to clench for just a second, but he knew those fingers, and those fingers knew him, well enough to thrum against his prostate without really having to look and the hing fell away from his jaw in favor of the trap just hanging there, honey eyes rolling back and pitiful little sounds spilling from his throat.

Those were teeth suckling at his neck, sliding wet, hot, open kisses that were less kissy and more nippy down his shoulders and collarbone to catch a nipple, teeth wrapping around it and biting just enough to cause a bit of pain, making his hips cant up against Derek's denim-clad erection and back down onto his fingers, forcing them a knuckle deeper.

"De-_ah_-Derek, don't, don't tease!"

Two fingers became three, and before three could become four, there was another high, whining, pleading sound that fell from the boys lips, fingers fisting tighter in the taller mans hair and pulling his mouth down roughly for a searing kiss.

There was a bit of a frenzy then, Derek's throat rumbling with a low growl and his hands juggling Stiles' weight and the snap and fly for his own jeans, managing to keep the boy pinned to the wall and kick away his pants all in one motion.

Growling, teeth clashing, fangs nipping at a plump lower lip and a faint metallic taste to couple with the sting, and then that was a breathless scream spilling from his throat, head snapping back and his mouth wrenching away from Derek's fast enough that it slammed into the wall, because _fuck, oh fucking fuck it had been a few days and it was dry and oh God,_ he was going to feel that in the morning.

Really though, the human teen didn't have it in himself to care, making needy little sounds instead and forcing his hips down, down, down into the rough, hot, delicious burning stretch of Derek's cock buried deep inside him, down into the grasp of the claws that were leaving little scratches and bruises all along his hips and thighs.

It was hard and fast, a furious, practically punishing pace that had his body bouncing, trapped between his mate and the wall and his head cracking back every other thrust, not even enough time for him to tell the difference between the _thump thump thump_ action. A sharp stream of pleasure, like candy coated shards of glass breaking into his blood, drawing whines and other wanton sounds that Derek did nothing but encourage with his bruising thrusts and deep growls that he knew, bastard knew what those did to him!

Shit, he was going to get wall burn.

He was gana get wall burn, and how the hell was he going to explain that to his dad?

"O-Oh my God!"

Scrambling for purchase, his body tensed, pulling tight and he could feel it, liquid and boiling, starting in his abdomen and completely skipping the simmering stage, heading straight for the bubbles instead.

Whining, because fuck, he was close, he hadn't even had to touch himself, but then again when did he ever when Derek was in a mood like this, and so Stiles was whining, whining and thrusting down into the impact that sent him back _into the wall_.

Whining and fucking himself down onto the hot flesh coated steel that was doing its best to rip him in half, every powerful thrust smashing mushroom-head first into his prostate and sending colorful burst of light to dance across his vision as his back made a sharp bow and his head lulled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Because he was close, so close he could fucking taste it, and then he, _fuck, oh, fuck, he was trying to kill him_.

Because those were claws, sharp, dangerous claws that were dragging themselves down his back and making the muscles flutter while he clenched tightly around the other man, legs jackhammering up as high as they could and his knees tucking in at the mans ribs, trying to arch into him and away from him all at once. Nails, dragging across his skin, leaving angry red trails in their wake that Jackson wasn't going to let him live down for a month, minimum.

He must have been babbling, because that was a growl, a snarl in response to him saying someone elses name, and the thrusts took a harsher edge that hadn't been there before.

"Fuck, fuck, Dere-_ngah_!" There, he had enough air to scream, enough motion for his body to jerk forward, nails digging deep into the man's biceps and his blunt, human teeth taking purchase on the meaty part of his shoulder. Body shuddering, twitching and tightening, he painted their stomachs white, felt more than heard the howl that left Derek's lips as heat, wet, sticky heat, shot deep inside him.

It took them a few minutes, maybe five, he really couldn't tell, didn't know much past the heavy rolling waves of bliss that were worming their way through his body, making him twitch in sensitivity from the aftershocks of pleasure.

A few minutes, and then they were sliding to the floor, Derek slipping from him with an obscene wet _pop_, pulling a whine from his lips.

A few more minutes of panting and being wrapped tight and safe in his mates arms, listening to the thundering sounds of their heartbeats and feeling perfectly context.

Fuck Scott, fuck the Argents, fuck any stupid hunters that had decided to encroach on their territory, he didn't feel like dealing right now, thank you for your stay now take a flying leap at the cliff to your left, please don't come again.

"So, uh, not to stroke your ego or anything, cuz there's totally something else I would be stroking if I could feel my arms right now, though I'd probably settle for feeling my toe-"

"Stiles,"

"But I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow."

There was a huff, and those were arms, wrapping tighter around him and adjusting him, listing him up carefully and toting him up the new stairs.

Barely, maybe, he couldn't really tell, with his head tucked against Derek's chest and his body limp in the mans arms, fucked out and soon to be dead to the world for the next couple hours to come, Stiles swore he heard a smile in Derek's voice.

"Good,"

...

..

.

It is not proud


	5. Chapter 5

**No smut in this one, my apologies, more fluff than anything else with a lil hurt-comfort, maybe some angst if you squint and look at it funny. And of course a dash of Boyd and Erica (I don't know the ship name for them, I feel so ashamed!)**

**Want in on a little secret?**

**As of today, I just started watching Teen Wolf. Noon today was the first time I had ever seen an episode, and yet look, I've made five chapters on them already! And I haven't touched tumblr in like, two months either! I just...read...a lot...**

**Special thanks to Sterek's beta, Dereksgirl24 and MoonLightWolf35 for actually reviewing, thank you thank you thank you!  
**

**Anyway, enjoy the fluff, I'm gana go back to watching season 1.**

**Fyi, pretty sure I really totally do not like Scott in the slightest. He's so ugly, and he's a horrible best friend and Stiles goes out of his way to try and help and what does he get, death threats and bruises and wall burns? Seriously? **

* * *

Love is not proud

...

..

.

There were a lot of things that Stiles could claim he was.

He was pretty damn smart if he did say so himself, all little stupid moments and brain flukes that didn't even begin to add up to Scott's dubbed as simply that, stupid moments.

And there, that was something else, Scott. He was like, and amazing best friend, wasn't he? Ignoring the fact that the other teen was like, uber obsessed with anything Alison, making sure he didn't murder anyone once a month, and even keeping him stocked on the gross red tic tacs that the boy loved so much.

He had gotten pretty good with his reflexes in the last year and a half, what with having to dodge killer supernatural things all the time.

And he was still like, the king of research, just sayin, with all the shit he'd had to dig up for Derek and the pack? Yea, he was kind of a Godsend, fyi for those who had decided to try and like, ignore his awesomeness.

But, for all the things that Stiles was, all the charm and the snark and the never ending fountain of 'you'll never guess what I found' knowledge, Stiles's self esteem was rather, well,

"Nice ass, Stilinski,"

A shove to his shoulder sent the pale, lanky teen into a locker, side protesting in the form of tensing muscles and wailing nerve endings. Grunting from the impact, teeth clenching and his eyes shutting for a moment as the breath rushed out of him, the brunette felt his body begin to ache.

There was a tightness in his chest, not caused by the pain but more by the canting of his heart and the quivering in his belly that came with his unease. Head inclining away, he took a second to breathe, righting himself before Erica could so much as move a claw in the direction of the teen who had disappeared into the crowd. Quickly and carefully, his hand darted out, fingers snagging onto the leather at her wrist and gaining her attention, eyes glowing golden in her protective rage and glued tightly to him.

"Sti-"

Shaking his head, he gave her a bit of a smile, one shoulder lifting in a shrug, the other still ringing in pain.

"Not worth it, kay?"

That was pretty much shot.

.

She'd been late, the two teens having arranged to work on their English project and have dinner since his dad was working the night shift, and Derek had silently decided that he didn't need to be alone anymore.

Ever.

And usually, Erica wasn't late, more punctual than Boyd and Scott at least, though not as good at it as Jackson or Isaac who were usually early to everything.

So Erica being late meant that she was either tied up making out somewhere with the packs dark-man, or something was wrong.

Secretly, or out loud, whichever worked, he was hoping for the former, no matter how much the thought grossed him out.

The sound of his window clicking, shifting quietly before it opened didn't do much to warrant concern, he was far too used to it by now to really be alarmed, and so the mole speckled teen didn't look up from his compressed perch in his computer chair. Legs pulled up and folded, body melded and molded into the cush as best he could without causing harm to his sore side, the boy continued his typing, clacking away at his laptop and scrubbing a hand through his hair, the strands long enough that he could grab a fistful.

Between Scott's drama with Alison -their off again on again thing happened more than the girl probably had to buy tampons, ew, gross though, disgusting thought, moving on-, trying to cope with the fact that his Dad now knew about all the supernatural shit after the Kamina stint, and just pack in general, he'd been a bit too busy to get it trimmed.

The sound of quiet footsteps didn't startle him either.

"Pizza downstairs, still warm cuz its only from like, twenty minutes ago and it was insanely freakin hot. Yaknow, I think the delivery guy's are used to us calling by now, since we do this every thursday, cuz like, they knew me by name, order an house, exact change too. Kinda really freakin creepy, but I guess some psycho having our pizza order memorized should be the least of my worries, even though he did want to know why you called me Mom last ti-"

The last few words he wanted to say died on his tongue, because that definitely wasn't Erica with her face pressed close to his neck, nosing the flesh and giving a slight sniff with the undercurrent of a growl in the air.

"Dere-"

"Let me see," Another growl, insistent fingers pulling at his shirt and making his arms extend, earning a quiet hiss of pain even as the cotton fabric went up and over his head to be thrown somewhere on the floor and he was pulled to his feet and moved to recline on the bed, bouncing a bit.

She'd told on him.

Little bitch had told on him!

"She is so freakin grounded it's not even funny, I swear to Go-ow, owowowow!"

It hurt, more than he'd expected and worse than he'd like to admit and if it didn't feel like torture he didn't know what was.

Maybe a freakin grandpa beating him half to death, but hey, whatever.

More growling, though this time it was a mix between wounded and enraged and carefully, those were fingers, claw-tipped fingers, prodding his side and checking for broken bones under the skin that had turned a dark, angry purple-black color that was leaning closer to black and farther from purple the longer it sat.

The two fell into silence apart from the slight hisses Stiles let out through his tightly clenched jaw and the little growls that Derek continued to stream.

A few minutes of silence that stretched into about ten, and about half way through Derek eased him back so he was laying on his bed, cheeks flushing and his amber brown eyes averting, because this kind of tender attention wasn't something he was really used to, not even from Derek.

"C'mon Sourwolf, I'm fine,"

Another growl, and just like that, he was silenced once more, though all it really gained was a sigh from the lanky teeth that caused his ribs to shift a bit, making him wince.

"You reek of pain,"

"I'm on the Lacrosse team, happens. I'm human, bruise easily, kinda breakable, mean's it happens more. S'nothing."

Those words drew a sound he hadn't predicted, a small whimper pooling its way out of the mighty Alpha's throat, and Stiles felt his eyes widen.

Head pressing into his throat, nuzzling the flesh there and crawling up so he could pull the teen to curl against him, gentle still, Derek let out another low sound, just as pained as the one before.

"You're not nothing."

"De-"

Lips on his made him lapse into silence, a gentle hand on the back of his head drawing him in closer for the kiss, holding him there till his lungs burned for air because he forgot to breathe through his nose, always did when Derek kissed him like that, slow and sweet.

It took his breath away, made his toes curl, chest tig-oh, fuck, shit that hurt, that was bruised, fuck fuckity fuck fuck!

The hand on his side tightened, and he heard Derek inhale sharply, felt it against his lips more than anything else. A second, and a glance down showed him the veins on the man's arm bulging, turning black and long and dragging the pain and discoloration away from him. And just as he had inhaled, he exhaled, continuing to be held an relishing in the feel of it.

"Not nothing, never nothing,"

A quiet murmur of agreement, burrowing himself into the man's chest and soaking in the warmth he provided, eyes shutting.

"I love you."

Quietly, there was a rumbling, within Derek's chest and under his ear, a sound that comforted more than anything else.

"Love you,"

...

..

.

Love is not rude


	6. Chapter 6

**Smut, sorta, only one sided pleasure, either Stiles' is being greedy or Derek's just hungry idk which. **

**Fem!Stiles, got bored, you'll deal with it.**

**Special thanks to Sterek's beta, Dereksgirl24 and MoonLightWolf35 for actually reviewing, thank you thank you thank you!  
**

**My love for Scott might have slightly gone up some, not much, but still. I can respect him not at least, because he is looking out for Isaac even though I know he is so totally gana blow Stiles off for him and come on Isaac you would be better as best friends with Stiles!**

**Stupid werewolves.**

**Scotts still ugly.**

**Just thought we needed to establish that.**

**Don't know if any of you have noticed or not, but half the time, the 'love is ...' and whatever follows is either true and the story sticks to it, or its sarcastic.**

**I'm having fun with this, sue me. **

* * *

Love is not rude

...

..

.

Really, she didn't know what she had been thinking.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, most things normally did when well, Stiles was being Stiles, which was like, all the time, but uh, this one?

"Scott, stop kicking me!"

"Stiles, he's touching me!"

"Jackson, get your feet out of my face!"

"Isaac, that's my hair!"

Pack movie night?

No, no, no, nononononononono, no!

Not a good idea.

Begrudgingly, or happily, she couldn't tell the difference, their favorite Alpha had left them alone for at most an hour, taking the money that they had all brought and going on a pizza run, since he refused to have anyone deliver out to the newly renovated Hale house. Or maybe it was because the delivery boy refused to come up to the house ever since the last time when Isaac had launched himself from the roof.

That was probably it.

"Stiles, make him stop!"

"Erica, you're drooling!"

"These heels are worth more than your car, McCall, do not scuff them!"

With a quiet gasp, she wiggled off of the couch, pulling out from where she had been wedged under Danny's shoulder and sliding across the floor a bit to disappear down the hall and into the safety of the kitchen.

She didn't get very far, just past the grand stairs and across the foyer to the side of the house that actually had the kitchen and dining room and she was gone, door to the kitchen swinging shut behind her and her body being thrown against a wall.

Head tipping back, the only sound she could omit was a gush of air and a quiet half-whimper, because those were teeth at her throat, nipping at the bottom of her jaw and catching on the straps of her bra and tanktop. Hands bracing on wide shoulders, she pushed herself up as far as she could, coltish legs winding around a trim waist to hang on tight.

Growling, growling against her collarbone and using insistent fingers to pluck her tanktop up so it bunched over her breasts and her bra down to shove her tits into a constant state of perk, her body was swung around again, shoulder length mess of brown hair moving quickly around her head as she was deposited on the counter.

And deposited was the only way to describe the way she was half dropped onto the cold surface, his body already making the motions to pull her flimsy little cotton sleep shorts down and the fuck with her panties, those were in his pocket now. Scrambling, she tried to say his name, because he was supposed to be doing a food run, a food run with the money they'd all given him to get pizza, not pressing kisses down her chest and nibbling at her stomach. Not spreading her thighs with his shoulders and gripping his blunt nail tipped fingers against the pert globes of her ass, pulling her body closer to him to half hang off the edge of the counter. Not making her body sway forward so that her hands had to brace themselves on his shoulders to keep from toppling over.

"De-a-ah! Oh fuck, shit shit, give a gi-mnah!"

Well, she tried to speak at least, she really did, an if any of the beta's in the other room bothered to question, she would claim that she had tried to find out why he hadn't been getting them food.

The sudden rise in volume on the television had her silently thanking Jackson, who had claimed the remote twenty minutes ago when it had gone flying.

Any words she had to aim at Derek were lost though, fingers curling, nails biting into his shoulders and her back arching tightly, head falling back to bump loudly against the cabinet. The moan she let out was challenged by the volume going up again on the movie, Jackson doing his best to muffle out the breathless, pleading sounds she was making.

Because that was his tongue, pressing against her wet skin and his mouth sipping kisses from her center and laving at her clit like it was his only chance at survival. She would have thought he had been fasting, with the hunger that he used to try and devour her, making her body writhe on the counter and her nails bite into the thick, meaty flesh of his shoulders. And up, up her knees went, a jerky reaction to the stimulation, the growl he let out as his teeth scraped her sensitive clit doing nothing to ease the electric feeling.

It took her a moment to notice that her hips were moving, needy little sounds spilling from her lips and his name slipping free between every profanity. Her hips were moving, lifting and attempting to grind against his face as best she could, but his grip on her ass was allowing none of it, and so she was left to do nothing other than whimper, hands sliding to grasp handfuls of his hair.

"Derek,"

A long lick down her slit.

"Oh my God,"

A sudden suction to her clenching center.

"Yes,"

Her fingers clenching tighter in his hair.

"Oh,"

His nose bumping against her clit.

"Fuck,"

The growl of approval he made to one of her pathetic sounds.

"S-shit,"

His thumbs spreading her sex open wide.

"Yes!"

His hot, wet tongue diving into her as he tried to eat her from the inside out.

Whining, bearing down on him as best she could, his hands were occupied with keeping her open, and so she could give a little grind, pressing to him and rolling her head from left to right in the pleasure.

And then he was pressing kitten licks to her puffy outer lips, just as she could feel the pulsing threaten to start, right before she felt the rush of liquid fire that never came, making her body give and almost painful shudder at how she was cut off.

"No, Sourwolf c'mon, don't, don't tease."

Growling, he was growling against her inner thigh, the vibrations traveling up her pale flesh to her pussy and earning another moan.

"Say it, Stiles."

Another moan, this time one of protest.

"Ge-"

It started as a squeak, and with her head coming up quickly, wide honey eyes staring down at him, Stiles stopped the motion she'd been making to chew on her lip. Already, the pink flesh was pouty and abused red, stinging when she released it, tugging on his hair slightly.

"Alpha, please."

That was all he needed, the only little plea to leave her lips before he dove back in with a sharp nip to her thigh and a resounding growl that had a pretty little mewl pulling from her lips.

She could feel it building with every lick and lap, body curling forwards to try and wrap over his, thighs squeezing tight.

"Don't stop, fuck Derek, please don't stop, please, I-fuck,-!"

Gasping, fingers tightening in his hair, she could feel his fingers, thumbs swirling around the edge of her center where his tongue delved deep, and with a nip to her clit, she felt it, burning and electric as it rushed through her body, sending her muscles into a spasm.

Back arching sharply to the point that it cracked, her head fell back against the cabinet once more and her shaking thighs tried their hardest to wrap around Derek's head, body already starting to shudder with the aftershocks.

She might have screamed, didn't know, really didn't fucking care thank you very much, and her body seemed to be held like that for a moment before she fell back against the counter, boneless and shivering even as he continued to press licks to her sensitive skin.

Finally, her fingers moved when she couldn't take it anymore, tugging on his hair and pulling him up with her weak arms so she could press her mouth to his. He had five oclock shadow, though really that seemed like a permanent thing on his handsome face, and already she could feel a whisker burn forming between her thighs but she didn't give a damn.

So fucking worth it.

"I swear to God, if the pizza was anywhere near you two I'm not eating it!"

Yep, she thought with a snort, leaning into him even as the growling, red eyed beast pulled her close, so worth it.

Pack movie night?

Best fucking idea, ever.

...

..

.

It is not self-seeking


	7. Chapter 7

**Waiting for season three, really really anxiously. Only person I can talk to about this series is my bestfriends boyfriend, how sad is that? A straight guy understands and sympathizes with my Sterek feels!**

**Once again, all stories might not hold exactly to the little 'love is...' that they've been labeled with, but it'll either be close, or it'll be the exact opposite and then its sarcastic. Like, reeeeeally sarcastic. **

**Kinda jumped the gun and already have the one for 'Love is not easily angered' finished and I'm like, theres one before that...so I'm back tracking and writing this one!**

**Enjoy, this one and the next one have much angst feels, which is strange because I'm actually in a bubbly mood.**

**Oh well, Read and Review please!**

* * *

Love is not self-seeking

...

..

.

He would have thought that werewolves were smarter than this.

Usually they had to do the needed smartsl, out run Hunters, not wolf out in the middle of the grocery store when someone bashed into their cart, make sure they didn't drop too many Thumper's and Bambi's during their fuzzy runs, which he would have thought took up to some degree of brain power to be able to function in the proper way to actually, yaknow, do that.

But then again Scott could do it, and his friend wasn't exactly the sharpest crayon ever, he'd learned that very early on.

He loved the lovable -there, see it explained itself right there, the boy was impossible not to love- puppy just as much as the next guy, and he'd been with him through the potty training, the terrible two's, and even all the baby teeth as well as the painful everything that led up to where they were now, so he could say that with the most undying love.

But these wolves?

They iced the damn stupid cake.

"C'mon y'little shit, lookit the camera."

If nothing else, the Pack could be proud of him and the fact that he was proving to be just as stubborn as ever, head tipped back and rolling from right to left while he hummed Hungry like the Wolf by Duran Duran under his breathe, completely unabashed by the fact that he was tightly bound to the chair.

And if he was aiming to piss his captors off, then it was working, if the strong hand grasping a handful of his hair -hey, his hair was long enough for that. Huh, looked like he needed to get it cut sometime soon- and jerking his head up was anything to go by, or the ruby glowing eyes that stared back at him.

Forcing him to look at the camera that had been running for all of a minute, little red light blinking on the top corner of it to remind him that hey, look, he was so totally on candid camera!

And sure, alright, he looked at the damn camera, with its shiny lenses and black exterior that was still just as shiny as the rest of it meaning it was new, brand spanking new, and he was probably the first subject they used it on, even if the thought of the five big men in Radio Shack made him give a little snort.

Which probably wasn't the wisest thing to do, as it had the grip on his hair tightening to the point that it hurt because fuck, that was attached asshole, watch it with the cla-_shit those were claws scraping against his scalp._ Those were claws against his scalp just like those were fangs pressed close to his ear, enough that he could feel the sharp drag of them and his eyes widened before they narrowed, darting from the camera to glare at the bigger man.

"Read the script."

Another snort, looking at the white board that was help up beside the camera, because no, who the hell did they think he was, a hostage victim?

Wait, he kind of was, wasn't he, in a totally not damsel in distress kinda way?

"Three wolf, two wolf, five wolf, four, and their leaders just a bitch, such a big eye so-_uh!_" The last bit came out in a gush of air, because that was a fist in his stomach, making the chair tip back slightly onto its two back legs, held there by the fact that said fist was still pressed into his gut. Deep in his middle, pushing hard and forcing all of the air out of him to the point that his vision swam for just a second and oh, yeah, something cracked in there, like bone. Something like bone, and human bones weren't supposed to crack, just joints, and he didn't have any joints in the middle of his ribs.

The sound he made when the mans fist fell away and his chair smacked back down onto all four legs was positively inhuman and purely made of pain, head hanging low as he wheezed and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"Read the script and call your Alpha, and you might even make it out of here with all your fingers and toes."

And there, that was a cold splash of reality, a dose of something to his chest that was more painful than the crack in his ribs or the hurt in his gut, clenching tight and icy hot around his heart to the point it hurt to breathe.

"He doesn't want me anymore."

.

_He didn't know how they'd gotten to this point._

_Between the questions and the raised voices, someones tongue had slipped, someone had said something that couldn't be taken back because they were the kind of words that were said in the heat of anger that cut deep and bled hard, and for the life of him he didn't know which one of them had drawn the final straw._

_It had started like every other petty argument they had, Stiles' telling him he was being to rough with the Betas', Derek telling him that they needed to learn. It had escalated from there, the gangly boy of sixteen shouting that they were teenagers, not soldiers or lambs to be prepped for a slaughter._

_There, that was probably how he'd set him off, questioning his leadership, testing his authority in a way that none of the others had any room to because they couldn't put a toe very far out of line, Alpha order._

_And it had only gone on from there, more shouting, and shoving, and whoever had said that mates couldn't fight had been wrong, disgustingly wrong because if their screaming and shoving and name calling wasn't fighting he didn't know what was._

_But then Derek had been howling, roaring at him, telling him to get out, to learn his place, because he wasn't one of them, was just a human, a breakable, worthless human who he'd been stuck into mating with._

_Worthless._

_That had been the part that had stopped him, had him so shell shocked that he didn't even fight back as the older man shoved him back into the wall by his throat before grasping a handful of his shirt and flinging him out the door and onto the porch where he missed the first step, tumbling down the rest and into the grass._

_Because Derek had called him a lot of things, but worthless, that had...that wasn't something that he'd ever been called, not by the older man with his ruff and gruff and growl and biker leather fetish._

_And that hadn't even been the worst part, no, the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest as the last bit had sank in, the fact that Derek said he was stuck with him, no, that was far, far worse than every being called worthless, he could have dealt just fine with being worthless._

_He hadn't even seemed to notice what he'd said, though surely he could scent the pain and the emptiness that exploded from the youth, just standing there in the doorway with his body heaving on every breath and his expression filled with rage._

_Somehow, he managed to stumble up and to his Jeep though, even making it off of the Hale property and to the store to sit in the darkened parking lot, because he was supposed to be grocery shopping, wasn't he?_

_And then the dam broke, thick, heaving sobs spilling from his lips and making his body shudder as he hugged the steering wheel, smelling nothing but leather and Derek's aftershave in the vehicles confines, making his stomach roll. So he threw the heavy metal door open, ignoring the squeaks and squeals it made in protest and slamming it behind him, slumping against the outside with his face in his hands._

_Perfect prey it seemed as a thick hand wrapped around his throat, bashing him up against the cold blue metal of his baby and lifting his feet off the ground. And the snarling face before him was one he didn't know, holding him tight like that even as his world went black around the edges._

.

The alpha paused.

Head tipped, the burly man watched him with narrowed eyes, calculating him, scenting him if the flaring and fluttering of his nose was anything to go by. Checking for lies, for doubt, for any form of anything that would give any bit of wrong away, but there was none, there was no doubt, just as there was no fluttering to his heart.

Nothing.

There was nothing as he watched the man behind the camera, chest feeling empty and his heart heavy and cold. Not an increase in his heart rate, or a skip in his breathing, none of the little signs, because he wasn't lying, there was no reason for Derek to come, not after what had happened, not with the way that he'd thrown him out, told him to get out.

He didn't want him anymore.

Didn't want him anymore, and the knowledge of that was enough to make the alpha behind the camera smile, if the sudden gleam of teeth was anything to go by.

"Doesn't want you, huh?" A malicious sound, just as was the curling of claws that came into his view and the cackling growl from somewhere behind him that sounded just as dark and sick as the dreams that kept Isaac twitching at night. "Well, we wouldn't want a pretty little human to go to waste."

Glaring, challenging them, Stiles gave a grunt even as he felt hands on his throat, claws grazing across the back of the tender flesh and dragging deep, slitting the skin and making a quiet sound slip from him. Pain, the kind that made his fists curl and his body try to jerk away from it, but those were claws digging deep into his side, slashing and pulling and marking him scream out from the mingling bit parts of both equal shock and hurt. Hurt, because it burned, wet and hot, pulsing through him in a way that had his body trembling just as claws cut into his cheek, slitting from temple to his lip before they cut that too and he was able to do nothing more than embrace the burn, because at least he was feeling something.

Feeling something, even as that fucking little red dot blinked in his vision, reminding him that his pack was gana be seeing this soon, so he couldn't be weak, a little bit of claws was nothing compared to what they'd gone through before.

"That all you've got? Because I've seen old men with bigger balls than you, and I know a teenage girl with sharper nails than that, and I'd know, because she sinks them into my arm every time she needs my attention. Pretty nice show you make with all those growls and glowing eyes, choking a kid out in a deserted parking lots gada take a shit ton of brain power, so all this thinking might just hurt your head, be careful there big fella. In fact, I'd be surprised if you even knew how to use those chompers, since you spent the first twenty minutes banging on that fucking camera to try and get it to turn on, because oh, right, dogs don't know how to read the instructions, shoulda known that on-"

Mouthy, because that was what Stiles was, awkward and lanky and uncoordinated and mouthy in a way that his Dad was always saying was gana get him hurt.

And, if the body suddenly hovering over his was anything to go by, the way that his heart suddenly seized in his chest before it started to hammer away inside his chest at a humming bird pace, or how the teeth closing around the junction of his neck and shoulder to draw a pained, panicked wail from him were anything to go by, then yeah, his Dad'd been right.

.

Later, he would learn that Derek had been wrecked with guilt the moment that he'd made it off the property, to stricken with himself to go after him, wallowing in the fact that, there'd he'd done it again, he'd ruined someone.

Later, he would be told that, after two days of being gone, a video had turned up on the Hale house porch, wrapped with a red ribbon and pretty Hallmark handwriting that simply read Alpha, and he would be told of how the entire pack had seen it, heard it, watched the anguish that had taken over their leaders face when Stiles said he wasn't wanted anymore.

Later, he would be filled in on how they went into a state of whimpers and whines at his pain, at the scratches and the claws, going further into a state of furry frenzy at the sound of his screams and the sight of his blood, the wet sound of teeth tearing through his human flesh.

Presently though, no one told him anything, not as he woke with a start, muscles clamping together tightly as if to try and escape themselves and he felt a panic set in his body, because something was wrapped around him, tight and hot and holding him without any sign of ever letting go. His panic was ill felt though, because there was a quiet whine from beside him, and he could smell him, smell Derek, wrapped around him, reeking of sadness and guilt and _pain_, and it was enough to make Stiles whine in return, because he shouldn't have been able to smell that, shouldn't have been able to tell.

But he could, just as he could hear the thumping of the mans heart and the sound of his breathing, and it hurt, because that wasn't human, he wasn't human anymore.

And so he let out another whine, because he could smell it all now, he was with Pack, he was safe, curled on their bed with his Derek, his mate, who was keeping him safe and warm, wrapped up tight in his arms.

"Derek,"

"I'm sorry," It sounded like a curse, pitiful and pathetic and so full of self loathing and guilt that it made him feel sick, dizzying with the thick stench of love and _mate_ that came from the older man. "I shouldn't have, I didn't, I-God, _Stiles_."

And that hurt too, hearing his name like that, let out in a terrified whimper like that, like he was going to break with something said too loud, and he could smell the sadness, the grief, but there was relief there, happiness, and down bellow them in the living room of the renovated house he could smell the rest of them, curled with each other to the point that arms and legs were nothing more than a tangled mess.

But he didn't know what to say, apart from another whimper of the others name, which he let out in a reedy peel of sound, earning a shudder in response and arms tightening around him, pulling him closer still. So he burrowed, huddled into the warmth and the safety and the love, because Derek was there, Derek still loved him, and he was home, with his pack and his mate and everything was going to be just fine.

...

..

.

It is not easily angered


	8. Chapter 8

**Waiting, still waiting, feel like I'm gana be waiting for a while and this is utterly horrible because I want to see Jackson and Lydia, and Erica and Boyd and Isaac being a cute little puppy and Scott being love drunk and stupid and I want to see Sterek, damnit!.**

**Still pathetic that the person who understands my feels is my _best friends boyfriend_, but beggers can't be choosers, no matter how hard we try.**

**Angst. Angst, angst and more angst, have run with that because well, its angst, duh. And Daddy-issues, cuz I feel like Stiles and his nameless daddy who for some reason I keep naming John would have those.**

**I'm going to clear things up and say that I love his father, because I do, I adore the man and I wonder just how the hell he puts up with Stiles' like he does because I know I would never be able to, no matter how hard I tried. **

**This one's kinda like, pre-slash? And look, I like Scott in this one, theres proof, because he gets screen time as a good guy! **

**Oh well, Read and Review please!**

**Dragonryder94, you are amazing, I love you, I love you, oh you have no idea! **

**"WHY DO YOU ONLY HAVE 4 REVIEWS!? This series is AMAZING, and I am completely in love with it! I can't wait for more!"**

**You made my day darling, let me just tell you! So, like, I would kiss you if I could, fyi, just thought I'd tell you that dearest reader of mine who seems to be my most faithful reader AND OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU! I literally squealed in the middle of my second hour class. I even let out this little 'And I love you, random citizen' and of course my crush gave me a strange look, of course he did, he always does, ugh, fml my life why do I like a drummer boy why why why why?**

**So, without further adue, this chapter is dedicated to Dragonryder94!**

**ENJOY!**

**(This one might stay open ended-ish, because I had the idea, and with this stupid giant WWII project I have, its dwindling away)**

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Love is not easily angered

...

..

.

John Stilinski was running late for work.

Nothing new, it happened a few times, and as the man took the stairs two at a time and crossed the thresh hold, his fingers didn't even have time to open the door, because it was opening to show Stiles on the other end, looking tired and worn.

"Hey buddy," Tired and worn and blue, with one arm pulled a little closer to him and splotches of discoloration dotting his skin. "You okay?"

"Yea, I-rough day at practice."

Nodding, John reached out, clasping his hand on the boy's shoulder and failing completely to notice the flinch he got in response.

"Tell me if it gets too much, kay?"

But he was gone before Stiles could answer, out the door and down the steps to start up his cruiser and peel out of the driveway. There was no answer though, the door just shutting and the teenager leaning back against it with a heavy sigh and a shaking to his limbs as he sank to the floor. And up when his knees, pulling tight to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, head buried in the hollow despite the screaming protests his sore body made.

Because really, how were you supposed to tell your only parent, that their latest drunken rage was the reason you were black and blue all over?

.

Stiles' didn't sleep much anymore.

It showed no matter what he did to try and hide it, and oh but he had tried, the coldness to his skin, the dark discoloration under his eyes, even the jerky way that his body moved. He'd taken to doubling the Adderall dosage that he used to take, which was fine because no one at the pharmacy really bothered to question, and so that helped a little with his not sleeping.

He couldn't sleep though, tried, he'd tried and it got him nowhere fast, ended with him in a shivering bundle on his floor, arms wrapped around his head as if to protect himself and his legs drawn up tight. Memories fought their way back, the kind of thoughts and things that he had no room for in his mind when he was busy, dealing with school and Scott and Pack and every other problem that seemed to worm its way in that made its way along with the supernatural crack that had descended on the town. Tried to be home as little as he could, tried to keep the amounts of time he had to go into that house down to a minimum, anything to make it better, to make it stop, because it seemed like every single time he came back, half a bottle was gone.

Half a bottle was gone and his Dad would be waiting for him.

He'd debated the idea once, of asking Isaac what it had been like, when everything had seemed to break. It'd been brought about by his brother's death and the blond boy's mother running off, he knew that much, but really no one but Isaac knew everything that had gone down.

Debated it, and then had tossed the notion aside because no, he couldn't, wouldn't ask the boy something like that, didn't even know where to start in trying to really broach the subject. It was painful enough that he dealt with it every day, because there were no sleepovers at Scott's since Allison had come into the picture and Melissa had taken their house key back. He didn't blame her for that though, not really, even if he did feel a slight stab of jealousy every time he saw the single mother stroke her hand over her son's head.

A stab that was quickly covered by a mixture of nausea, guilt and shame so strong that it had his eyes watering, because he had no right to be jealous.

He'd killed his mother after all.

People like him didn't get to be jealous.

He didn't really know what had started it, probably the fact that, on the anniversary of her death, he'd been off and running with the Pack, trying to deal with the whole Alpha Pack problem and therefore he had left his Dad to his own devices for the night.

No one had ever really talked to him about it before, at eight he'd been just a bit too young to understand or remember the big words that the Doctor with his sad, sympathetic eyes had spoken, simply latching onto the the knowledge that something called cancer was killing his Mommy. An at eight, he hadn't known that she'd had it once before, the sickness, that she'd stopped taking her chemo when she'd learned she was pregnant, because it could have killed him. And by the time he'd been birthed and weaned, it had been too late for her to start back up, the process speeding up, cutting her chances from 'you'll be fine' too 'you should have ten years'.

Those ten years had turned into eight.

It hadn't really done much, hadn't clicked in his brain, the thoughts hadn't really linked together like the good choo-choo trains that they were, till his father had broken a Whiskey bottle over his head and the sharp cuts from glass had been made worse by the fiery burn of left over liquor.

Hadn't made sense till he'd been down on the ground and the only real family he had had been kicking him in the ribs, yelling at him, louder than he'd ever heard him before, blaming him, telling him that it was his fault, that if she'd just taken her pills and forgotten about the fucking baby that she would have been fine.

Damning him.

He'd lain there for a few hours even after his father had gone away, too numb from the shock and the pain to really move, not even after he'd heard the sound of John locking himself away in his room to sleep off his drunken rage.

And then he'd picked himself up, wandering to the bathroom to clean the glass out of his head and shower away the burn, wrapping his ribs before locking himself away in his own room.

He'd locked his window too that night.

.

Surprisingly, Scott had been the first one to notice that something was off.

Maybe he'd smelled the pain, or the panic when Mr. Harris brought up calling his father about him not paying attention, again, he wasn't really sure. Whatever it was, Scott noticed, and he noticed good, nose twitching and his eyes narrowing in on the cuts and scrapes, the bruises that he hid under fabrics like t-shirts and hoodies. He'd watched him the entire hour, calculating, concerned, with a feirceness in his gaze, as if trying to acess what was really wrong. And he must have guessed something, with the way that his heart rate had jackrabbited at the mention of calling his father, if the way the other boy had tensed was anything to go by.

So it came as no surprise when the day was over and Scott showed up at his house, since he'd managed to somehow evade the were-teen the rest of the school day.

No surprise, but it left him feeling striken just the same, because there was a haunted look in his friends eyes, something knowing.

"Stiles, I think we need to ta-"

"No," No, and just like that, he shut the door, slammed it really.

Or tried to anyways, because there was a foot there, his friends foot, a stupid fucking puppy foot, shoved into the space between the door and the jam and not letting it close like he needed it to, so he could just ignore this whole deal. Because it was nothing, nothing he didn't deserve, nothing he didn't have coming, because he was trouble, made trouble, caused trouble, was always doing the wrong thing.

And try as he might, no matter how hard he pushed, he was human, a human who didn't have enough power to stop the door from being pushed back and Scott slipping in to stand in front of him, puppy face filled with worry and pain, like it hurt him that Stiles was hurt.

So he took a step back, and one became two just as two turned into three and three wound up being four, but it didn't get him very far, surprisingly gentle fingers wrapping around his forearm. But the contact was enough to make him flinch, eyes closing tight and his body going tense before he could do anything to stop it, to fix it.

Scott knew.

Scott knew, and he was letting out a pathetic puppy sound, whimpering, whining, even as he pulled Stiles closer and wrapped him up tight, lifting his shirt at the same time to see just what the damage was.

Bandages around his torso, wrapped tight enough that he was in a constant state of being short of breath, the only way he could have them where the pain was managable, something that he could live with. Wrappings around his wrists, because those were blackened, chaffed by a firm grip and fingers tipped with hardness from years of work.

Another whine, and the other boy looked up, catching his eye and swallowing loudly, looking just as sick as he felt, and good, Stiles thought with a grimace, good, you should feel sick, you should have left me like this, I'm fine.

"Stiles, did he...?"

"No," No, no, no, no, a thousand times no, he deserved it, his Dad was doing it because he needed it. "I-It doesn't hurt,"

Lies.

Lies, and lies, always with the lies, the things that made his father drink, which made him angry, things that caused Stiles to be black and blue all over.

And so again he flinched, heart hammering, pulse racing, thundering away loudly within his veins, skin feeling cold.

"Stiles..." Another whine, long and low, and just like that, before he could do anything, before he could make him stop, because Scott needed to stop, he was _fine_, the teen was howling. The sound just as long and low as his whine had been, and full of mourning, anguish in its purest form. Howling, calling, because he was...he was calling Pack, he was calling Derek, no! No, no, no, no!

He was mumbling, must of been, close to hysterical, because he tore away from the other, pushing and pulling and breaking himself free before he tore up the stairs, ignoring the shout of his name and locking the bathroom door behind him instead, because no.

No, this wasn't happening, they weren't going to come.

But they did.

It took them ten minutes, he knew because he counted every second, and every time he got to sixty he started over, keeping tally on his fingers of just how many Mississippi's he'd said throughout his little littany, and sure enough, those were voices, voices down below, filling his house and smelling the pain, the fear and the despair, because he couldn't do it, couldn't hide it from them now, but he couldn't face them either.

Couldn't face them, but they didn't leave, he knew they didn't, knew they were still there even as he heard the sounds of something being poured down the kitchen sink, heard the sound of glass shattering into the trash can.

And _oh_, they were getting rid of it.

They were dumping it, washing it away, the burning liquid that had caused him so much pain, that fueled his father just as it made he himself cower in fear like he was, pressed between the bathroom sink and the wall.

Breathing, there was breathing, quiet and even on the other side of the door, the sound of weight being pressed against it even as the Beta's made work of clearing out any alcoholic thing in the house.

"Go away Derek." A whisper, just as quiet and broken as the rest of him, because if he couldn't face them, surely he couldn't face the leader of them all, their fearless Alpha who needed help from noone.

Derek, who didn't need any of them, even though he looked out for all of them and took care with each, ever vigilant, watchful as any dog would be.

No response, nothing verbal, but that was the bathroom door opening, creaking, and that was the sound of a sharp inhale through clenched teeth. And he knew, he knew because it was just one of those things that you couldn't not know, that if he looked up, the eyes he saw wouldn't be that chest clenching green, because they would be red. Red and angry and filled with power, promises of pain to those who harmed his pack. So he only curled tighter, arms wrapped tight around his head, but no touch came.

And so he looked, of course he looked, because Stilinski's were curious creatures by nature, they always looked, and Derek wasn't doing anything, not really.

He was just there, crouched in front of him with pain on his dark, stubble coated features, watching him, just looking at him, with open, unguarded eyes and a pleading expression.

So he reached out, putting his hand in the older man's after a few minutes of just staring, and let himself be eased to his feet, joints and sore flesh protesting loudly.

Standing, and then his hoodie was being taken away, shirt being taken off, and the damage was looked at in full, but instead of whining the elder let out a growl, low and filled with regret.

And that was the sound of his Dad's patrol car, the door slamming and the same exact tune his father whistled every day when he got home from work. Just as that was the door opening, even as Stiles' eyes darted to Derek with something close to fear in them that was quickly put at ease by the look there, because they weren't going anywhere.

Weren't going anywhere, even as he heard his Dad stop short at the sight of so many people in his house, so many teenagers who, as far as he knew, weren't friends with his son.

"Stiles?"

And he swallowed, loud and obvious, Adams Apple bobbing in his throat and his fingers tightening on Dereks, but the Alpha simply inclined his head to the door, and with a nod and a deep breath, he went, out the door and down the stairs to look at his fathers back while the man looked at all the teenagers in his kitchen, trying to understand why they were in his house.

"Hey Dad,"

And he could handle it, the look of horror and worry on the mans face, the way he paled like someone had shot him at the sight of his son, shirtless and bandaged, bits of blue and black peeking out past the wrappings. He could handle it, the way the man seemed to try to find the words to speak, the clashing bits of knowing and disbelief in his eyes, because that was his pack, standing in the kitchen with their golden and blue eyes glowing upon him, just as that was his Alpha behind him. Because Derek was there, just a breath away, so close he could hear him growling, but not close enough for him to hear his warmth, filled with anger and the urge to protect, but he would be there in an instant if Stiles needed him, if John took a step forward.

And he was fine, he would be fine, they would fix this, make this work, and there was probably really no way of ignoring the sound of claws clacking together from beind him, because that meant his father knew now, but that was one less thing he had to worry about.

...

..

.

It keeps no records of wrongs


	9. Chapter 9

**FLUFF WARNING.**

**I...don't really know where this came from?**

**I was listening to Kelly Clarkson belt out catch my breath, getting ragged on by my gay bestfriend about how I need to watch the new Supernatural season even though I'm pissed at it because that isn't Dean I swear to God.**

**So I don't know where this came from, I really don't because I just got done with a shit ton of angst, and I've had a really bad afternoon and I think I'm just gana have a hot shower and go to bed, but this decided I had to write it, so here, read it, enjoy it, review it because really people I like reading those...**

**Other wise, enjoy the fluff.**

**And yes, I'm very indecisive about just what the hell Stiles' mother would be named, because they never tell us. We don't even know what she looks like, but I feel like she'd be blonde, with the same eyes as Stiles.**

* * *

Love keeps no record of wrongs

...

..

.

Derek was never rough with him.

Sure, he got slammed into walls every now and then, and more often than not his head was getting bashed into a steering wheel, but that was just Derek being Derek, Sourwolf had always done that sort of thing.

But no, in the sense that they were lovers, mates, Derek was never rough with him.

In fact, really, if he thought about it, the older man was gentle, gentle in a painfully perfect way, as if he would break like the human he was if the man gripped him too tight in their passion, kissed him too hard.

Gentle, always gentle, with sweet kisses and soft touches, petting almost, like he didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to damage him in any way.

Like he was a scared animal that Derek didn't want to scare away, with his beating rabbit heart and his ever rolling mind.

Scared.

Ahh, there, that was it, the Alpha was scared, terrified, petrified, like he would break him, like Stiles was something that would be shattered into a million little pieces if he pushed him too much, bent him too far, spoke too loudly during the moments that were theirs and theirs alone.

There were notches, on the man's bed.

He hadn't noticed them at first, it had been the sixth or seventh time that Derek had been making love to him, because really there was no other way to name the sweet, exquisite torture that the other put him through to ease him up to cloud nine, and his hands had gone up, up to grab onto something, up to grab onto the wooden post of the new bed. The new bed in the new house, because they had fixed it, the pack, they'd all worked together after they'd gotten Erica and Boyd back from the Alpha's, had worked to make the burned out shell of a house into the home it had once been. And it was their home, their home, with his and Derek's bed, because ever since his Dad had found out about the wolves and pack and how he was a human who ran with wolves, the man had thrown himself into his work. So Stiles spent five or six out of seven nights a week in their house, in their bed, with Derek.

And there were notches, in their bed.

He hadn't thought much of it at first, had been a little puzzled by it, maybe it was a design or something that he had missed, or a flaw in the wood, you could never really tell anymore with how IKEA furniture was, impossible Polish-Swedish-Nordic stuff that took hours to put together and even then you were missing parts. He knew, he'd gone on a run back to the store to get the parts and complain to the store manager, because they had been missing and entire shelf in their dresser, all the screws in the night stand and the backing on the bookshelf.

Hadn't thought about it, until it'd been light out, and Derek had been out doing drills with the Beta's, keeping them in shape and on alert because they'd learned the hard way that there was nothing worse than a wolf who wasn't prepared, and then he'd been able to see them in the light.

There were seventeen of them, one for each year he had, and at first he had thought it was that, but no, that was stupid, because Derek wouldn't do that, no matter how sweet, no matter how gentle he was with his touches and his kisses, he was horrible with his words, worse with his actions unless they were passion, and passion he was perfect with.

Seventeen notches, and so he sat back on the floor of their room, brow furrowed and his hands worming through his hair that he was letting grow out, tugging at it a bit, thinking, trying, struggling, because no, there was no reasonable explanation as to why the man had seventeen notches in their bed.

And he didn't get it for weeks, though it would touch base in his mind every time Derek settled between his legs and made his back arch, his body fill with completion and his breath catch in his throat. It would take his mind for a second, a second when he would reach up an abort the action half way to drop his hands to the Alpha's shoulders instead, because he didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about the notches whose purpose he didn't know, didn't want to take his mind off the way that Derek was holding him, wanting him, loving him, because it was something he had never thought he would have, and now it was never going away.

It wasn't for weeks, days upon days upon days, that it finally came to him, and even then, it didn't come to him till it almost struck him in the face and left him gobsmacked.

He had been in the cemetery, he made it a point to go see her every single Wednesday, -Colleen had died on a Wednesday, on the first day of spring when everything was fresh and sweet with life and her own warmth had run dry, drained cold from the cancer- and had decided to take the long way back, to think, to say hello to the people that he passed, the old stones that no one went to anymore, names worn clear off and their edges broken.

There were seventeen names on the Hale family crypt.

It was enough to stop him cold, make him feel sick and ashamed all at once, because he hadn't known, how had he not thought of it, not seen it before?

The first thing he had done when he got home was sand the notches away.

He sanded them away, and just as he sanded them, he fixed the stain and the paint on the wood, filed it so it looked like there was just a dip in it, did the same to the other three so they were uniform, like they were supposed to look like that. And there were no notches, they were gone, out of sight and out of mind, until they weren't.

Because Derek noticed.

It took him a night, just one night, and he jolted to a halt in the middle of their love, looking at the post with wide green eyes, pain and confusion in them, only falling to Stiles when the boy's hands went up to cup his jaw, soothing and comforting and there. And then they were on him, wide still and vulnerable, filled with unease and guilt, so much guilt and pain that it made him feel sick, sicker even than he had felt in the cemetery.

"I love you,"

A whisper, voice filled with sincerity and finality, looking up at the older man with nothing but love and adoration, understanding and more knowing than any boy his age should have, but it was there, and it was enough to make the older shudder. That smile, equal parts soft and sad, was enough to have the mighty were letting out a whine, dropping his body down to curl around the human, his head nuzzling into his throat where his scent was the strongest. And his arms went around him, pale and skinny and strong as any metal, because this was his mate, his to love, his to protect, and so he would, with all the passion that a human had.

"I love you,"

And he whispered those three words into the night, when the air outside became quiet and cold and everything fell to a subdued hush with a likes that only the night could have.

...

..

.

It does not delight in evil


	10. Chapter 10

**No clue where I'm going with this one, fyi for any of you who actually read this. Which, yaknow, I'm hopeful that you actually read these things, because I do put thought into these pretty little Authors Notes, since I care about my readers and all. ...That wasn't sarcastic, I swear. Theres only so much sarcasm a seventeen year old can have, and I've reached my limit for the hour. **

**Anyway, Girl!Stiles, because its been pointed out to me that I have a reader that likes that, or prefers it whichever term you like hearing best, and well, I know from experience that there really aren't a lot of fics with Stiles where he's a girl, and its kind of upsetting, because the ones where he is a girl, he's this damsel kinda girl and that just...doesn't fly. I'm sorry, where along the lines did Stiles turn into a damsel in distress? Because I think I missed the memo. **

**Anyway, we're gana try something new here, because a future thing was mentioned, and I do have an idea for a future fic with Stiles and Derek, I just want to finish this first before I start on that so the other ones on the back burner for the moment. **

**But, with that out of the way, this is a slight future fic, established relationship, that sort or thing. **

**Enjoy, comment, because I really would like to know what you people think of this story.**

**And encase anyones curious, Musical Muse for this selection is Running Up That Hill by Placebo. On repeat. For the past...two days.**

* * *

Love does not delight in evil

...

..

.

She didn't trust Peter.

And really, what reason did the young woman have to actually trust him, with the rather unfortunate series of events that had taken place since their first meeting? Because, the man had of course chased her through a school, tried to kill her in a hospital, tried to kill her best friend, practically slaughtered her girl-crush, and then threatened to give her the bite, which she most certainly _did not want_.

And one would think, after having graduated high school what, two years ago, that she would know by now what was best for her Pack.

And uh, Peter?

"Really, there's nothing wrong with a little blood shed." One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug, hands clasped in front of him in the most nonchalant form she had seen him take, yet it was one she saw often. "It is only a few humans after all."

Yea, he wasn't good for her Pack.

Her pack, because she was Derek's, belonged to the growling, red eyed Alpha if the glittering band on her left hand was anything to go by. And frankly, that was a shit ton to go by, by human standards anyway, though surely the fact that her scent reeked of Alpha was enough to make it pretty obvious to anyone with a sensitive enough nose.

And he knew what he was doing.

He knew how Derek was, a bleeding heart closeted by years of pain and guilt, a compassionate -if not grumpy to the point that it was frustrating, not to mention monosyllabic when she really wanted to have a conversation with her emotionally dense husband- soul shrouded in darkness that he was content to carry. He knew, he knew and he exploited it, just as he knew that she herself cared enough about others in general, that Derek would go out of his way to make sure the civilians were safe, if it kept her happy.

A happy wife makes a happy life, wasn't that the saying?

Finger straying, reaching out and grasping at the fabric of his sleeve, pulling his attention so it strayed from his uncle to her, and just like that his gaze softened, but even still there was the anger there, red and glaring where she would much rather see green. And there was resolution there, in the set of his jaw and the way his brow furrowed, making her own do the same, because ah, shit, but there would be no arguing with him, not when he looked like that. She knew that face, had seen it often, first time being when he'd sworn there would be no funny business between them till she was legal, and if that hadn't killed she didn't know what had.

No arguing with him, because his mind was made up, and mate, female Alpha, wife or not, there was nothing she could say that would change his mind.

So she hugged his arm instead, holding the appendage close and rocking side to side slightly, taking a deep whiff of the scent she knew simply as him.

"Go."

"Stiles," A testing tone, questioning, because they played this game every time, there was never any other option it seemed. He would make up his mind, she would tell him to go, he would ask, and she would push him out the door. A never ending cycle between the two of them it seemed, but it was one she was used to, something she embraced.

Well, she would play their game.

Nudging, pulling his head down and standing on tip toe to give him a kiss, she pressed the softly smiling curve of her mouth against his own lips, familiar and warm, slightly chapped.

"Go be a hero."

.

It was understandable, when he was gone for a few hours.

Perfectly fine, because it was a distress from a few counties over, still sort of in their territory if someone wanted to be technical about it, so it wasn't like it was anything that made her worry.

A few hours was fine.

A few days?

"Stiles, sit still for the love of God."

Squirming, she was squirming, wiggling from side to side and uncurling and re-curling her legs, unable to get comfortable no matter what she tried. Because he wasn't there, her mate, her anchor, the only real thing that kept her grounded to the things around her. He wasn't there, and just as he wasn't there, he hadn't sent her a single text.

They had a system set up, he knew that if he was going to be somewhere for more than a few hours, he had to tell her, at least let her know that he was alright, just as she had to do the same.

And having not heard anything for three days?

"Stiles!"

It was enough to turn her into a vibrating little bundle of energy.

A hand pulling at her hair, another pushing at her shoulder, Lydia shoved her back down into the chair, glaring at her from her perch on the table where the red haired girl was trying to go over wedding catalogs, an art that was completely lost on the research-guru. Expression turning sheepish, the brunette slouched in her seat a little, shoulders hunching up a bit as she looked at the other girl.

"You make a horrible maid of honor."

Whining, pulling at a strand of her hair, a nervous habit, she could only give the girl a piteous look.

"I'm trying Lyds, I promise. I just..." Trailing off, eyes drifting to where the doors were, she felt her body start to rock again, because it was too enclosed, too dark, there wasn't enough fresh air. And so with a pained sound, she looked back to the other woman, chewing then on her lip.

It earned her a sigh, frustrated and defeated, before the pale girl waved a hand.

"Go, get out."

She was out of her seat before the words were finished being spoken though, out and throwing the front door open even as she leapt from the porch to land on the green grass and fallen leaves that crunched slightly under her weight.

And it was stupid, stupid of her to be out there when the Alpha was gone, stupid, stupid, because there were always threats, always Omega's and stragglers who wandered into territory. Stupid, stupid, stupid, but that didn't stop her, not from breaking off into a run like she did even with the sounds of Lydia and Allison calling to her from back at the safety of the house, safe with its constricting walls that didn't breathe when he wasn't there. It didn't stop her as she sprinted through the forest, land that she had been running for the past five years of her life, because this was pack land, places she knew like the back of her hand and could operate with her rich brown eyes shut tight.

Twenty minutes worth of running.

Twenty minutes worth of ups and downs and scaling over fallen trees and rocks that had scratches and tears in them from familiar paws.

Familiar, even though she was far from the center of their territory, from the safety in numbers that wouldn't let her breathe.

She could have used the lack of breathing room though, as something broke, a cord snapping, something catching on her ankle before the tug gave, and up she went with a scream, tumbling up into the air in a form that made her feel like she was falling in reserve. Up, up even as her body tangled with the netting around her, fingers grappling wildly at the ropes, trying to pull even as her body moved about in a way that she couldn't control, contorting and rolling and her stomach threatening to up-heave in a way that made her curl up tight.

Bouncing and swaying, she let her eyes close, because there was no other way to evade the nauseating feeling of being suspended as she was in the air.

And yea, alright, so this was bad, like, really fucking bad, and she should have seen this one coming damnit, just because this was their territory didn't mean it was safe.

The sick feeling quickly turned into something else, anger, or therefore something close to it to the point that she couldn't tell the difference between the two bitter emotions that sat heavy in the back of her throat.

"Oh fuck this," Furious, whispering, already she was in action, flicking the Swiss Army knife out of her belt loop that Allison had given her three years ago for her birthday, opening it with sure fingers and beginning to saw away at the ropes, watching as they frayed one by one.

Again, not her smartest idea, far from her brightest moment though anything was better than being trapped up in the air, swinging around like a sitting duck, but it was hard reminding her brain of that as the net gave way under her and out of instinct her fingers grasped for it, trying to hold on even as she fell to the ground with enough force that it left her winded. Unable to breathe for a moment, she denied herself the urge to curl up, because no, that wouldn't do, no no, not at all, and so she struggled to her feet, fumbling with her knife in her hand and trying to ignore the fact that she had managed to slice her palm in the fall.

Trying to ignore it, and it was easy enough to do that, it wasn't so hard, if she didn't count for the fact that her blood was in the air now, and anyone close enough would be able to smell it, she let her legs carry her at a wobble, head reeling.

Good, she was good though, as she pushed her hair back and wondered just why in the fucking hell Lydia had taken all of her elastic ties for the long brown waves that decided they wanted to eat her face.

It was probably that, mixed with how she had yet to catch her breath that had her moving so slow, that made her such easy prey.

Prey didn't go down without a fight, not her kind of prey at least, and so when a hand grasped at her hair and yanked, her arm swung out, blade glittering and managing to slice thickly into her assailants arm. Grunting, human curses and pained sounds of the sort, because she'd slit a nerve with how deep she had cut, there was a steel bar of an arm that wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her up and aiming to swing her around, making the motions of tossing herbody through the air even though he didn't release her. Struggling, fighting, she lashed out, long legs flailing and her arms moving rapidly, managing to land a few slashes to the mans face before her hand was caught, and _crack_!

"Ah!"

Screaming, body jerking in a horrified manner, she let out a cry that was loud enough to bounce through the trees.

Because it hurt, hot and searing and painful to the point that she burst into tears, watching as her hand was left to hang there limpy, bones that made up her wrist completely snapped.

"Daniel!"

"Aye?" Bouncing, jostling, her hands were being taken from her, pushed behind her back and tied together roughly, making her cry out again because fuck, no, no no fucking shit that fucking hurt! What asshole tied broken bones together!?

"Don't hurt the girl."

Grunting again, because he was bleeding, the one who had a grip on her, one of his eyes shut tight against the slit that ran over the top of it from his brow to the bridge of his nose where she had managed to get him deep. Good, let him bleed and squint, she hoped his fucking eye rotted and fell out. It would serve the bastard right, getting her tangled in a fucking net -alright so maybe that one was more her fault,but stil-, making her cut her hand, _breaking her hand_. He could do with losing an eye.

"Bitch cut me!"

"Peter said she's pupped. Don't hurt her, she'll go for a lesser price if she miscarries."

.

She'd been to Los Angeles before, once, when her Mom was still alive and things were good, happy times when she was little enough and naive enough to think that the world revolved around Saturday morning cartoons and Double Bubble Bubble Gum. Back when she was little enough to still wear pretty little dresses that her Nana gave her every holiday, and to hold her Daddy's hands while she squealed with laughter about being twirled through the air. She'd been maybe seven, right before her Mom's pretty blonde hair had started to thin and her skin had began to turn sallow, she could remember because that was where her Mom had gotten the bruises from bumping people in the crowded street, the same bruises that had stayed there for weeks till she had finally gone to the doctor where they had learned just how sick she really was.

She'd been to Los Angeles once, a long time ago when things were still pretty and her biggest worry was trying to lose more baby teeth than Scott because he was a boy and boys weren't good at anything.

But years had passed since then, and she should have known that things weren't pretty, Hell, she knew that things weren't pretty anymore, not when people didn't want them to be.

And the Los Angeles Hunters Market?

Wasn't pretty.

She was sitting in a cage.

They'd had the tact to put her in a cage, with thick iron bars lined with mountain ash and a cold floor. Her hands were still bound, though the bindings had been changed out for something harder, iron that wrapped around her wrists -even the broken one cuz they were dicks like that- that were connected behind her back to a thick chain that was stuck fast to the bottom of the cage. Iron that chapped her skin, and tugged on the broken bone to the point that there were tear treks on her dirty face, because she had been sitting on her cage on display in the dirty, dusty market for the past three days.

And she didn't know which was worse, the fact that her body had gone numb to the pain in her hand and arm, or the fact that she couldn't even smell her own stench anymore.

Either way, her pain and her scent were the last things on her mind, no matter how disgusting she may smell, because instead she had curled her legs up and craned her body as best she could to shield her abdomen.

_"Peter said she's pupped._"

Words that echoed in her ears, had been floating around in there for the past few days, the only hold she had that kept her from struggling against the shackles on her wrists and trying her best to worm through the thick bars, because if she could get her head through it than damnit she could fit the rest of her too.

But they'd thought of that, because the chain connecting her to the floor was short enough that she couldn't even move reasonably close to the bars to try her little little ill thought plan that probably only ever worked for mice.

Or maybe it was cats.

It didn't matter either way though, because she couldn't risk it, wouldn't even attempt anything that would add more trauma to her body, because already she had broken bones, severe dehydration and malnutrition if the way her stomach had stopped hurting the day before was anything to base off of, even if she wasn't bloating yet.

Not bloating was good, she didn't need to bloat.

_"Peter said she's pupped."_

Teeth gritting, lips shut tight, Stiles looked around, missing the comforting weight of her wedding bands on her hand, but no, those had been ripped off with her little excursion with the net, so they were in the forest somewhere.

Derek would find them.

It had taken her a day to work out that she had been sanctioned away with the bait portion of the market.

A pregnant woman -because she was pregnant, wasn't she? Oh, that was a thought that should have excited her, should have made her feel warm and soft inside, but no, all it was doing was sending chills through her. Because he was pregnant, and they were going to use her for that. What kind of sick fucks used a pregnant woman as bait, didn't Hunter shave a code? She'd asked that though, and it was the reason that the side of her face was purple and her lip was split so- was being kept in a cage, in the bait section of a black market.

Fine, she thought with a glare out into the darkness, because night had fallen and the lights had all gone out save for the few industrial orbs that let off a faint sepia glow that didn't nothing good for her eyes.

Let them use her as bait, she thought with a devious little smile and a hint of satisfied malice in the air around her, covered with undertows of frustration and numbed pain.

It was their lives in the balance, because those were the sounds of howls, howls and cries of war to couple with the human screams of the Hunters who had decided to take her and stock her next to deer intestine and boars heart.

And she gave a slight tug to the chains before she could stop it, because he was there, she could feel it, thrumming away inside her like a heartbeat that wasn't hers, something that threatened to explode from her chest with its rage that she could almost feel, but not quite. Good, that was fine, let it hurt, because the more it hurt, the more she smelled of pain, the more it would spur him on.

And those were cranberry eyes, staring at her from within the dark shape of fur, black and thick, with a muzzle specked with blood and paws that were soaked in them, but she didn't care, giving another tug, feeling the twinges of protest in her wrist and embracing it, because he was right there, tearing the front off of her cage and making a smile stretch her lips, swollen and split as they were.

"Derek."

...

..

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It does not delight in evil


	11. Chapter 11

**ANGST WARNING. POSSIBLE TRIGGERS.**

**God I hope not I don't feel like giving anyone a panic attack, I know what those are like, but this song started on my youtube and I got on a roll and I even hunted down quotes you guys should be so proud of meeeeeee!...uh, Pre-Sterek**

**So uh, anyone else noticed how I delivered with the last one? REQUEST GRANTED! And I think I did pretty good with it, had my usual levels of wee angst and the like, and look how beautiful it was, I got two reviews from it! Two! **

**So, love rejoices with the truth.**

**Huh.**

**Well then, this one should be...interesting, because you can't really lie to a Werewolf, can you? They can hear it, your heart beat, and all the other stuff that happens when you lie, like they can see your skin prickle, or your eyes when they dilate, or how you start to sweat a little.**

**And well, we saw Stiles, with his stupid loyal self, tight lipped to the point that he got the shit kicked out of him by an old man, so I can only imagine that he would take pack secrets with him tot he grave, if it meant keeping the others safe.**

**-waves hands- Just ignore me as I cough my lungs up over ever cough so hard you feel like you need to pee, but you know you dont cuz you tried? Yea, I've got that going on. **

**Enjoy, comment, because I really would like to know what you people think of this story.**

** Musical Muse(s) for this selection is(/are) Echo by Jason Walker. **

* * *

Love rejoices with the truth

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There was a book out there somewhere, called A Woman Without Lies.

It was a good book, if how his Mom had poured over it was anyway to go by, how the pages of it were worn and would seem soft and frayed if he were to hold it in his hands, that exact copy with its spine so cracked that he couldn't even see the Authors name anymore to be able to tell someone who wrote it, so it wasn't like he could refer it to anyone. And it didn't help, that he couldn't remember the name of the female lead either, but he knew the mans name, because he had wanted to be named that when he was younger, had thought it was the coolest thing he had ever heard, even cooler than his Granpa's name, which was also his name, that he couldn't pronounce even though it sounded way wicked when his Mom did.

Hawk, the mans name had been Hawk.

And that had been short for something, but he couldn't exactly remember what, didn't have the faintest clue as to what exactly it was that his name had stood for, or if that had even been his real name. But the man had been a business man, cold and cruel and ruthless to the point that he trusted no one, found joy in nothing from the people around him.

And the girl, Angel, maybe her name had been Angel, with her bouncing blond curls that she liked to tie bells to and her pretty blue eyes, she had been beautiful. Beautiful and broken, everyone she loved taken from her in a car crash that had robbed her the use of her legs for months on end till she regained the use of them. A stained glass crafter, the things she made were like the ones his Mom had pointed out to him when they used to go to church back when he still believed in God, the pretty glass with its swirling colors and pictures instead of stories like the big boring book his Aunt Tabby read like it was her life.

And Hawk found Angel, the pretty woman who had never told a lie in her life, and he made her feel love again, even after her love had been killed in the crash years before. He made her feel something that she hadn't felt in such a long time, pushing her and challenging her and putting her back up against a wall, _making her fight for herself_. And even as she fought she showed him the pleasures of her world, bittersweet as it was, innocent in her broken nature with her soft honesty and her desire to be real.

And then he broke her, after worming his way into her heart and making her fall in love.

He crushed her into little bitty pieces, balled her up and tossed her side to the point that she threw herself into her work with the pretty glass, almost killing herself by the time he tried to fix his mistake, because by the time he realized just how miserable he was without her, she was almost dead by her own hand, sick from exhaustion, and Hawk was stuck with the realization that he he had done that.

He had almost killed an Angel.

There was a book like that, floating around somewhere, it had been lost in the attic somewhere with all the other stuff that he and his Dad didn't need, or didn't have time for, the things that they had pushed aside because they were hers, and anything that was Monica's was something that hurt either of them to think about, let alone look at.

What would it be like, Stiles wondered as his back was pressed against the flat board, arms spread and his body bound to the surface, because he couldn't fight, couldn't move past whatever drug they had put in his system when the stupid Hunters had decided to jump him.

What would it be like, to not tell a lie?

How would it feel, to not have that momentary blockade in his throat from the knot his tongue made as he struggled with words he didn't want to say, or the hot, bitter taste in his mouth from whatever malignant spewing he had come up with that time?

Would it feel good, like a weight had been lifted off his chest, like his shoulders weren't carrying the weight of the world, and like he didn't have a chain wrapped tight around his throat that gave a tug with every lie he said?

Would it be warm, like the days he spent laying out in the summer, asleep in the grass of his back yard with his body prone on the prickly bits?

He didn't know, but he had a feeling it would be wonderful.

"Where is your pack."

Had he been able to, he would have tested the restraints on his arms and legs, pulled at them too see just how hard and tight they really were, how durable they would be against his wiry human arms.

He wasn't able to though, Hell, he was barely even able to move his tongue, heavy as it was where it sat in his mouth.

That didn't help him any though, and he couldn't see anything on the figures faces from the bright light that was on the ceiling behind them, blackening them out even as it washed him out, making his head hurt from the brightness of it, so he squinted his eyes, just to try and get a glimpse of them.

Hands on his jaw, grasping hard and forcing him to look straight up at them once more, his teeth wanting to grit and grind together even though he couldn't get his mouth to close because of the hand.

"Where is your pack, boy?"

No answer, because he couldn't didn't have it in him to give them an answer because he couldn't form words even if he tried, wouldn't be able to even if he wanted to. But he didn't, want to, he didn't want to, because in telling them no matter how honest he would be, that would mean death, if not for him then also for the members of his pack, the same members who were too busy dealing with the problems of an Alpha Pack right now to probably even notice that he was gone. Yet still, he wouldn't give them up, couldn't, didn't have it in him because they were his family, they were the only real things he had left in life other that his Dad, but the man was drinking his way into an early grave.

There wasn't any warning to his silence, no way for him to even know he needed to breathe apart from the quiet sloshing sound, but that could have been anything because he didn't know where he was.

Didn't know where he was, or how to speak, but that didn't seem to matter, because that was something being held above him, and just like that, with a quick gush, that was water, rushing out at him and covering his face even as his mouth closed tight.

Water boarding, they were water boarding him.

It continued like that for what felt like years, but surely it was only seconds, long enough for him to feel the rush of blood going around his head as it swirled and splattered across his face, his body jerking as he struggled against the hold on his jaw that was trying to force his mouth back open and the bindings on his arms and legs.

And then it was gone, and air rushed to his body, and he didn't know which was worse, the sensation of not being able to breathe, the panic of it, or the nauseating breathlessness that swept over him as he gasped for air.

"Where is your pack."

"Well since you asked so nicely," He managed between pants, in control of his tongue now, body heaving against the board and his amber brown eyes narrowed in an angry glare, upper half dripping from the hose that hung in the mans hand, he could make out enough shapes to know it was a hose. "I'm gana have to say fuck you."

"Again."

A warning this time, however slight, but he didn't have the time, didn't have the chance to get his mouth shut, because that hand was practically crushing his jaw to the point that it was stuck open. Letting the water in, though it didn't go any farther from his throat, and instead he felt part of it rush to his stomach before his vocal cords shut tight to block the liquid out and it just sat there, gathering and spilling over the sides of his mouth to rush down his face. There was the rushing again, the roaring in his head and the heavy pressure that centered behind his eyes before it exploded everywhere else, making his head feel like it was going to explode.

_"You know when you're drowning you don't actually inhale until right before you black out. It's called voluntary apnea. It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. Then when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore, it's… it's actually kind of peaceful." _

And he had been right, because it hurt, his head felt like it was going to explode, and Jesus fuck, but he couldn't seem to get enough air when all the water stopped and his body heaved off the board once more, greedily sucking in lungfuls of oxygen and nitrogen even as he coughed.

"Where is your pack."

_"Can you feel sorry for the nine year old Matt who drowned?"_

He hadn't known what it was like, the pounding in his head and the roaring behind his ears, hadn't known, had never been able to guess, had thought that his panic attacks were the closest thing he would ever feel, but no, he was actually drowning, or close to it.

_"Just because a bunch of dumb asses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one. And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer. Not just of her though, I mean he photoshopped himself into these pictures. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing, y'know like he had built this whole fake relationship. So yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what set him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train." _

"Go to Hell!"

Crazy, Matt had been crazy, there was no way to doubt that, no way to even begin to hide the fact that the boy hadn't been in his right mind, probably had never been in his right mind if someone really stopped too think about it, and surely him drowning for the first time had been what had pushed him up to that edge, though Allison was what had pushed him off.

But Stiles wasn't crazy, he wasn't, not even as his face was held again and there came the water, rushing, gushing, filling up his throat all the way to his clenched vocal cords and managing to slip through a little bit, making him gurgle and sputter against it.

_"Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming fear that something terrible's about to happen."_

Terrible, sure, yea, this shit probably got classified somewhere under the category of terrible, would probably take the icing on the cake because apart from his Mom dying, he didn't think he'd ever been through something so torturous.

_"It's called hyper vigilance. The persistent feeling of being under threat."_

He had every right to be hyper vigilant, he decided as the water went away and he was left to hack, body shuddering and convulsing as he tried to expel what water had managed to get in.

"Where is your pack."

_"Maybe it's not just a feeling though, right, it's… it's like it's a panic attack. Y'know, like I can't even breathe."_

Well, now he knew what he could link that to, not being able to breathe, because he couldn't, and then he could, and the force of it all had his head spinning, body feeling heavy and dizzy and God, but he just wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere, but he couldn't, couldn't move, couldn't mvoe just like he couldn't fucking breathe, but that didn't stop them from asking questions.

"No."

A sigh, as if the man didn't want to do this, like he had better things to do that _water board a seventeen year old_. Well news flash you fucking asshole, he had better things to do that be tortured by Hunters with no code, again.

"Again."

_"Like you're drowning."_

Water.

_"Yeah."_

So much fucking water, God their bill was going to suck.

_"So, if you're drowning, and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment… what if you chose to not open your mouth? To not let the water hit?"_

It kept pounding on him.

_"Y-You do anyway, it's a reflex." _

Pushing on him.

_"But… if you hold off, until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?"_

Beating against his vocal cords till they began to open.

_"Not much time."_

And then he felt it.

_"But more time to fight your way to the surface"_

It was right there.

_"I guess."_

The first couple trickles of water.

_"More time to be rescued."_

Running down the rest of his throat to his stomach.

_"More time to be in agonizing pain. Did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding?"_

And then the water stopped, and he was left to cough again, eyes closing to the blinding light and his body turning heavy.

"Where is your pack."

Questions that he couldn't answer as he instead spat on the man, hearing the splat of it and watching as a dark hand went up to the shadows and wiped the saliva away.

"Again."

_"If it's about surviving, isn't a little agony worth it?"_

And if this wasn't agony, he didn't know what was, because he didn't have time, didn't have the chance to take a gulp because the air he was trying to breathe was replaced with water.

_"I mean, what if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now and… and it's just hell later on."_

The water was getting in, making his body swell and his back bow as he tried to fight against it, gurgling and screaming into the wetness as tears leaked over from his eyes to mingle with the rest of the water till the difference couldn't be told anymore. Because the water was getting in, he couldn't have stopped it if he wanted to as his jaw was held open, and so he could do nothing but scream and gurgle and _cry_, because he was going to die here, where ever here was, and his Dad was never going to know the difference, he was going to become another Amber Alert case because there probably wouldn't be a body to turn up anywhere.

_"Then think about something Winston Churchill once said: If you're going through hell, keep going."_

.

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to darkness.

Darkness and warmth, and there was a quiet beeping from beside him, just as there was something deep down his throat. And the beeping sped up as he began to panic, because he didn't know where he was, didn't know why there was a tube down his throat, and the hands that he had tried to lifted to pull it away were being held down by a grip that was strong and warm and made him want to cry and scream all over again because no, he wasn't doing that again, he wasn't.

"Shh, Stiles, you're alright, you're safe."

Derek, that was Derek, with his low voice and his warmth, comforting now even as his heart continued to race and the tears leaked free, because he knew what the beeping was, had heard it many a time before when he and his Dad had come to the hospital during his Mom's last days.

He was in a hospital, meaning that it had actually happened, and the knowing of that made him whimper around the tube even as he cried, and with more soft sounds the Alpha managed to calm him.

"You're safe now, no ones going to hurt you."

It took an hour, an hour and two nurses, but the tube was taken from his throat and something had been put into his IV drip to keep him from feeling the pain that he should have felt, the heaviness in his lungs.

And Derek had been his usual silent self when the nurses had done their job, telling him the time and letting him know that it was two in the morning, on a Monday. Which was bad, because it had been a Wednesday when he had been taken, he knew it had, because he'd checked the oil in his Jeep and he only checked the oil on Wednesdays.

They stayed in their little silence though, even after the nurses had gone and the darkness wasn't so dark anymore because he could breathe and move his tongue even though his mouth felt like cotton and just as cold.

They stayed like that for he didn't know how long, but it was broken by Derek, surprisingly.

"You didn't give us up."

More of a question than anything else, like it should have been obvious that he should have. And the very notion made Stiles scoff, turning his head in his exhaustion to look at the other man, five years his senior but looking just as vulnerable and scared as any seventeen year old ever would.

"I ...would never...put you in d...danger." It took him longer than it should have, with his throat being so dry, but he couldn't bear to drink, he couldn't not with the memory still so fresh in his mind, so vivid in his memory that he could still feel the water pounding on his face and throat every time he closed his eyes to blink.

A low sound, a whine, and fingers laced with, his twined around his own and a thumb moved in slow, soothing patterns over the back of his palm, making him smile a little as he lay there watching the wolf.

...

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It always protects


	12. Chapter 12

**SO, fluff, much much fluff to make up for my angst attack that I didn't mean to spring on you I swear I didn't that wasn't my intention at all!**

**And I've had you without smut for like, the past ...3? maybe 4, I don't know, but it's been a while so I'll see if I can worm some into this one if it goes with the fluff. **

**Enjoy, comment, because I really would like to know what you people think of this story.**

**Noticed that I've never made one of these from Dereks point of view either, and its a little harder than I thought it would be, but easier than I expected if that makes any sense.**

** Musical Muse(s) for this selection is(/are) Oh Darling by Plug In Stereo featuring Cady Groves. (I'm kind of having a mental love affair with Trevor Dahl, just look at him, he's so sweet and cute and he looks so shy half the time! I just wana cuddle him! AND HE'S MY AGE!)**

* * *

Love always protects

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It started out simple enough.

The boy was clumsy, plain and simple, with his jittering feet and flailing limbs that managed to tangle while he walked so to anyone who didn't ever get to see him in action it was a wonder how he managed to make first line till someone actually saw him play -Pack of course knew, they'd seen him before when he'd used those limber, lithe limbs to his advantage and had wormed his way up a wall to launch himself onto the back of a Werewolf, a stupid move that the Alpha had raged on him for afterwards, even though it had been extremely effective as a way to slit the Omega's throat.

And, as a clumsy young adult -because it made him feel like less of a lecherous old man to call him that rather than a teenager-, he was prone to tripping over things, running into things and managing to harm himself with various things without even really trying.

Derek had noticed this back before he had decided to start the renovations on the Hale house.

Things had simmered down rather nicely, the Argents having backed off with their hands held high and thus far, there had been no real problems apart from the Alpha Pack and the few Omega's, but those had been taken care of all in due time.

And with things simmering down, he had been able to move the pack den back to his house, and that had been fine, had worked out perfectly.

Until one pack meeting -because they had those on Fridays, since the meetings kept his Beta's and human members from going and getting drunk or in more trouble than they already did since the bunch seemed to be ankle deep in it- when they had been doing a whole lot of nothing that wasn't exactly what they always did, training and drills and the four humans, Danny now included since he had been dragged into the thick of it when the Alpha Pack had showed signs of wanting to use him as bait, had been doing what they did best.

And of course, on his way from the ruined living room to the equally ruined kitchen, Stiles had managed to trip on something.

And that had been fine, Stiles tripped all the time.

Fine, till they smelled the pain and the blood and heard his muffled curse because he'd shoved his hand straight onto a rusted nail.

Pack meeting had been spent in the hospital with a bunch of nervous wolves and fretful humans.

.

Immediately following the little Emergency Room debacle which had about given Derek a heart attack since the last time the boy had been in the hospital it had been because of severe injuries from an Alpha, Derek had started renovations on the house.

No one could blame him, because his mate had been hurt, over something as common and trivial as a rusted nail, a stupid little sharp bit of metal that any one of them could have tripped and landed on. But no, it had been Stiles, his motor mouthed mate who hadn't said a single word the entire way to the Emergency Room after they'd all piled and squished into Derek's Camero, had simply stared at his bleeding hand.

And it was fine, renovations were good, that meant that the house was getting fixed and it would be a proper den for the pack.

And Stiles was fine, having needed only a tetanus shot, a wrap for his hand and a bottle of antibiotic to keep the swelling and the pain down.

Good and fine didn't seem to mean much though, because his human mate managed to get himself in trouble in the renovations just as soon as his hand healed, of course he did.

Stiles didn't look where he walked, ever. Derek had learned that quickly through some subtle observations, because that was part of the reason that the teen stumbled so often. And the not looking where he walked was only worse when he was doing something, like research, and he had a thick tome that reeked of dust and old book glue balanced in his hands, pacing through the house as he did his reading. Reading that had him distracted to the point that he stumbled slightly over the hammer that Boyd had just set down, but he didn't let it bother him as he kept right on walking.

Walking to the point that he was right under the two-by-four that managed to fall out of the fumbling paws of Scott and Isaac.

Derek reacted before they could, lunged and caught the board that had had the intent of cracking on the back of his mates neck, something simple that could have proved fatal, and the growl he gave had all the Beta's stilling, and even Stiles looking up at him with confusion in his knowledge hazed eyes.

"Everything okay, Sourwolf?"

More growling, eyes narrowing as he fought the urge to roll them, because the boy was clueless in the worst of ways that both frustrated him and left him wanting to kiss the youth breathless till his lips were swollen and red and his cheeks turned hot.

"Peachy."

Practically snarling, he tossed the heavy board back up, Scott and Isaac catching it wisely and securing it in their grasp though they looked at their Alpha with wide eyes all the while. He turned gentle though, turning his glare from them back down to Stiles, and ah, but he just couldn't seem to help it, seeing the steadily growing shade of pink that touched the boys face though he was doing nothing more than gazing up at him with weighted adoration in those warm chocolate eyes. So he bent slightly, cupping the boys jaw just so and brushing his lips over the others for a soft, whispering kiss, the kind that had the pale pink blush increasing ten fold.

.

Little things, like Stiles managing to stub his toe, or crack his elbow on the new counters that they had installed, or hitting his head on the inside of the fridge when he straightened too fast. Simple things, human things that he understood perfectly well just as he knew that there was no real way to avoid them, like scraped knees and splinters and hangnails.

Just because they were simple didn't mean Derek liked them any better.

In fact, it made him like them even _less_, because that meant that they happened often. A lot actually, because every single day it seemed that the boy managed to bang something all on his own, and his placement as a starter on first line didn't help either, as his wiry body took an extensive beating every single day they had practice.

Because he was human.

A human that bruised easily, whose skin was pale to the point it was milky and whose limbs bent to the point that it should have hurt, but his strange dexterity let them keep bending till it did hurt, and then there was a problem with him getting stuck till he managed to unwind himself after about five minutes of shifting and wiggling.

And not only was he a human who bruised easily, but he was a human with long bones, bones that were stretched thin to the point that just enough pressure and they would snap.

Derek had seen it before, had witnessed it first hand during a brawl with a small three person pack challenging them for their territory, because Stiles had gotten in the way, and his being in the way had ended up with him getting grabbed and swung into a wall by his arm, the shoulder breaking and some of his ribs snapping, radius and ulna shattering from the sheer pressure of the grip because the other packs Beta hadn't seemed to notice till it was too late that he was human.

Had seen it just as he had heard it, the sickening crunch, the twisting sound of it as the hard fibers split and the marrow exploded, drown out by the sharp scream of anguish that the boy had let out and the vile stench of his pain that was backed by anger, hot and fiery to match the enraged howl that had boomed from Derek's throat.

Scraped knees and splinters and hangnails were simple.

Broken bones and punctured internals weren't, and he liked them a hell of a lot less that he liked scraped knees and splinters and hangnails.

.

It had been pointed out to him, by Isaac nonetheless because his notch eared Beta was more susceptible to the emotions of those around him for reasons that Derek didn't yet know, but it wasn't something he vexed the boy for regardless.

And it wasn't like he denied it, because it was true, the fact that he was protective of his human mate, because the two claims to said protectiveness lay right there if someone only looked at the surface.

Stiles was human.

That in itself meant that he came with a ready made saddle of problems and accidents lined up as they waited for their turn to happen, like tripping down stairs or sewing his thumb when he was trying to stitch Danny up.

Stiles was mate.

That meant that he was at in a constant state of danger, even if his status as mate also made him practically veto and immune to any pack political issues, though it didn't stop him from becoming a target, since the quickest way to take out an Alpha was to take out their mate.

And, probably, it didn't help that this protectiveness was backed by the fact that Derek was in a constant state of terror, no matter how slight.

Because he had watched his family die, had caused it actually even though Stiles repeatedly told him -and smacked him on the arm, the back of the head, the thigh, whichever was closest at the time- that he wasn't at fault, and there was the little nagging fear there, that something was going to take Stiles away.

So sure, he was over protective, but it wasn't as if the boy minded.

.

Sighing, catching the glass bowl out of the air and using his other arm to pluck up the flailing mass of limbs, Derek saved himself from the pain of watching his mate get hurt, and the disaster that the crash would have made his kitchen.

Because there was flour in that bowl, as well as eggs and sugar and salt, so the boy had decided to bake something like he did when he was nervous, so he probably had a Spanish test the nest day.

"Oh, hi Derek!"

Chirping, as if he hadn't just about seriously hurt himself by slipping on some water that had sloshed out of Erica's cup, the boy looked up at him with bright eyes, a happy smile on his cheeks, which made Derek sigh again, though for entirely different reasons.

He didn't say much though, wasn't usually one for words since the ones he knew how to use never seemed to be the right ones even though Stiles always managed to understand him, so he righted the boy instead, keeping his arm firmly around his thin waist even as he put the bowl back on the counter.

"Careful." It earned him an eye roll in response, and an exasperated wave of his hands, because Stiles was used to being clumsy, had dealt with it all his life, a curse that Derek had never been subjected to even though he had to watch every single time something happened to mar the boys skin, or break his bones, or cut him, or bruise him.

Exasperation, but there was a fond smile there, warmth like there always was even as the boy ignored the calls of 'Mom!' from the front room because Scott and Jackson were fighting, again, and Isaac didn't know what to do other than curl up in Danny's lap and try to ignore them till that didn't work.

So no, the boy didn't mind.

...

..

.

It always trusts


	13. Chapter 13

**I HAVE 3 CHAPTERS LEFT.**

_**DO THE POLL ON MY PROFILE!**_

**Got asked to make a not human Stiles, because honestly, yea, I can totally see where that alls coming from, because with all the shit he gets put through and all the shit he manages to pull, theres the slight possibility that no, he isn't human, which is good, thats fine actually because demon stiles or fae stiles is a totally sick thought, I'm just...not sure how to go about it exactly if I'm being completely honest here and I like being honest with you guys so.**

**Demon, I'm not too hot with demon, but Fae I might be able to manage, or hell, something along the lines of it, because -fandom base anyways since we only saw like the last four letters and no one knows how to pronounce it- his actual name isnt' exactly common. Genim is Fae based actually, which confused me and took some researching and I'm really happy my google chrome translates things for me because I really dont feel like trying to read Turkish, not when I just got done doing chemical equations for a class. **

**So, I'm going to see how the Fae thing goes, branch off from there.**

**And while I'm at it, totally going to apologize for the lack of smut in the last one, it sorta totally didn't fit but I've got an idea for this one, so.**

**Anyway, read and review, enjoy my fumbling attempts!**

**Totally had someone call me evil in a review, and I have to say, it made my day like you wouldn't believe, found it in the middle of my math class and almost died. You like the Stilinski angst honey? I hope I did a good enough job of it, I was watching history channel and learned some pretty extensive shit about torture, so I figured I might as well. And Stiles seems like the type to take his loyalty to the grave, so.**

**And I'm glad you got a kick out of Isaac calling Stiles Mom. He is kinda pack mom thou!**

**And I figured that since Stiles' name was a bit outlandish and foreign to us, that his Mom would have something that was one in the same. **

**Ione, pronounced ee-OH-nay**

**So, right, enjoy!**

**Musical Muse for this selection: Jar of Hearts- Christina Perri (Sam Tsui Cover)((Because for some ungodly reason Bieber is more famous that this beautiful boy even though the song so doesn't fit this setting in the slightest. ...I think...)) and Rainy Day Piano Music, cuz yaknow, its raining here**

* * *

Love always trusts

...

..

.

Something Stiles had learned over the years, was to not question anything.

It was probably how he made it through the day, the only way that he managed to not curl up somewhere with his arms over his head and try to sort out the pile of fuck that his life was, because honestly, he wouldn't even know where to start if he tried.

It was something that his Mom had done, never questioned anything, and she had done just fine, had been perfectly fine with the way she did her life.

Ione hadn't questioned a single thing, had simply done what she knew needed to be done and his Dad had just had to deal with it, till she had done too much and her magic had been tainted by the sickness that she had tried to fix.

And it had ended up killing her.

That was the first lesson that he had learned, and it was one that he had seen from example, because really, learning how to keep flowers alive and how to fix minor wounds, those weren't real lessons, those were common things that he could do without trying.

But he had learned, and he had learned fast, because what she had done was something stupid, and looking back at it now, hell, even then when he thought that she was the world, he knew that Ione had known.

She had known not to do what she did, because everything they fixed came with a price, every bone they mended set an ache within their own just as every sickness they cured left them shivering in an internal cold.

And he knew, because he had learned quick, very first lesson he had ever learned and it was a pity that he had had to learn it by example, but the notion still stood: Fae didn't intervene with the cycle of life.

And Ione had brought someone back from the brink of death.

There was a balance when it came to magic, a system for how things worked in their world. Because with how they were, the fact that their race dated back to long before humans had become anything to really worry about with their clubs and their grunting, with the kind of power that they possessed, there had to be a sense of order to things. They were powerful beings, each in their own right and all helping to keep balance in the ways of nature, adapting to nurture and to aid any creature in need, for it was in their way.

The Green Man and his lady wouldn't allow them to do anything less.

Creatures of fable, being of lore whose names shifted with every culture that they touched, just as their appearances ranged from moaning crones and weathered old men to doe eyed children with glittering wings of gold and hair of sunshine, all the way to the hermit beings of goblins and trolls and will'o'wisps and boggarts, to drakes and selkies with their shifting ways, they were the kind of things told in the stories spoken of in front of a fire as a way to entice children, to warn them just as much as to sate them, to teach them. Because knowledge was power and ah, but what a wonderful thing that kind of power was, how sweet it tasted on their tongues and how it set their bodies aglow with delight. And knowledge, that plethora of knowns and unknowns, those were things that could be used, something that few humans had learned and something that other creatures were often kept in the dark of as a way to maintain their own safety, measures of self preservation purely speaking, for the fae loved knowledge, it was something that grew, something pure and wholesome that brought them great pleasure in knowing. And it was also often their downfall, as what fae could resist the desire to learn something new?

A weakness, but it was in their blood, as the Green Man and his lady had designed them to be ever curious creatures with little to no control over what lengths they would go to if the thought that something of other knew more than they was instilled within their minds.

Balance though, because balance was key, balance kept things in motion and allowed the world to keep living on as it did.

There was a saying, originating from Russia back before the land was called Russia and tongues were still strange to hear and Latin in sense, that there was an eye for an eye.

It was hard to tell which species this thought originated from, as all creatures were vindictive to a certain extent really, there was no possible way to even begin to get around that no matter how much historians and humanitarians and, someone help the masses, pacifists tried to make people believe that by nature they themselves weren't violent.

But, balance, balance was necessary.

They were simple creatures, his lineage, simply liking to aid those in need, and Ione had been a bleeding heart for those in pain.

It was easy, to fix something, to mend a scrape or a scratch or a dislocated something or other, Stiles had learned that quickly even though it was something easy so really it was less of learning and more of practicing, since that kind of thing came naturally to him.

They could mend broken bones.

That part was simple, albeit it was a rather exhausting envidor as the actions took precise concentration and they had to want to fix it, they had to have the want to make something better, the desire to fix so something could prosper for another day yet to come, so they would see another night and another sun.

There was a line that could be crossed though, a teetering point between fixing and corrupting, and it was one that they hung in a delicate balance upon because one wrong step, and they would be lost into sickness and despair till they weakened and turned sallow and died.

Intentions pure or not, even at the tender age of seven, he'd been able to tell that his Mom had crossed that line.

Because the woman had been bleeding, the sweet woman who was old enough to be his Nana and just as snow haired, with the deep wrinkles etched into her face that never seemed to lose its smile and the lines of laughter that crinkled around her wise blue eyes.

Bleeding and broken from the nameless, faceless man who had bashed in her window and held a gun to her chest, firing at will even while the terrified old lady told him he could have whatever it was he wanted, just please not to hurt her. He had shot anyways, and the booming sound of it had been enough to wake his mother, asleep on the swing in the back yard where she could often be found on summer nights when his Dad was at work. And it had been too late for her to do anything really, to late for her to do what she could have safely done by the time she got there and the man was gone.

But Ione had done it anyways, because the woman was human, human and pure as she was kind, so she had taken the pain, hands sealed over the woman's chest and her eyes glowing golden and bright as she whispered words in a tongue unheard.

And the blood had pulled back, slinking its way back into the woman's body with not a speck of it to show that something horrible had happened, and her eyes unglazed just as her heart resumed its beating, the wound on her chest healing till there was no wound at all and she was simply on the ground as if she had stumbled.

And the sweet old woman who was old enough to be his Nana had seen, she had seen the glowing of the woman's eyes (a halfling, just as Stiles was, and just as any of his children would be, because one was simply half, the presence of magic too strong for it to deplete by more than that simple half, the fae in examination being full if both parents being of fae nature, half if simply one) just as she had seen the warmth shimmering in the air all around her.

Just as little seven year old Stiles had seen where he stood to watch in horror from the doorway, not knowing what he could do as he watched the pain leave the woman, as he felt the magic begin to revolt in his Moms body even though she smiled down at the nice sweet old woman who was old enough to be his Nana, whose name he would later learn to be Margaret, because she would live to be one hundred and twenty and not look a day over her sixty-three when the magic had happened and she would look after him for the rest of her painless life as she felt indebted though there was no debt to be had, none that he would collect.

Because his Mom had given to much, had leased out enough of her magic that she couldn't pull it back, and with the way she was smiling, so heartbroken but so happy, she had known exactly what she was doing.

She developed something that humans could only label as a cancer, for their systems of working had no other way of processing the way that her body was attacking itself, the mass production of cells even as her white cells ate away at themselves.

Because her magic was self-destructing, or therefore what was left of it, and just like that, she withered away before their eyes, becoming pale and sunken till she didn't even have the strength to get out of bed, but that didn't work either even after they took her to the hospital where the humans swore they would make her better.

John didn't need to be a fae to know they were lying, because there was nothing they could do, he knew what his wife had done because their son had been bawling when he had returned home that night, and her actions had been explained and let out in the open, and he too had wept for the loss of his love.

.

Ione died on Genim's eight birthday, and it was the first day he refused to answer to his given name.

.

"Yeah, yeah, grrr too you too Mr. Grump-A-Shit." Waving a hand around for a moment before pushing against the shoulder in front of him enough to make the other move, Stiles' let out a sigh, blasting past Jackson with his usual vigor and speed even though his body felt sluggish and lagging, joints tight and threatening to pop under the pressure of his skin.

Because it had been a long day, ridiculously long and torturous because he was fucking sore from lacrosse practice since Finstock actually thought he finally deserved first line -about fucking time, the Junior had said with a whoop of pride and a fist pump to Danny because Scott was too busy getting his face shoved into a sink-, so he wasn't exactly in the type of mood to deal with Jackson's special brand of douche.

It probably didn't help that he'd fixed a starving dog that morning who had been laying under their mailbox.

Snarling, angry at the dismissal no doubt, a hand shot out, claw tipped because the blonds control wasn't as good as he wished it was, latching onto Stiles' shoulder and swirling him around, shoving his face into the other teens.

The words died on the others tongue though, and good, Stiles thought with a menacing look of his own, because Jackson looked like he had swallowed said tongue, eyes fixated to the pale teens as his usually warm, laughing brown eyes melted into a molten citric color, radiating of power and something so strong and strange that it made his sensitive nose burn for a moment before it was gone, gone just as his hand on the boys shoulder was, because he was on his ass.

Jackson was on his ass, in the middle of their Alpha's front yard, and Stiles was looking at him with nothing more than a mixture of exasperation, amusement and annoyance on his features.

And his eyes were brown, brown and warm and not glowing by any means, and the scent of power and something that burned was gone, replaced by the usual scent that went around the boy wherever he went.

But Stiles knew, fuck he could tell just by the fact that Jackson was staring at him with wide eyes filled with shock._  
_

"Stiles?"

Oh, and, yaknow, maybe the fact that _he hadn't gotten up yet._

Jackson knew, had seen to an extent though he was relatively close minded enough that he wouldn't know what to make of it, and so he would write it off as the sun being too bright even though it was the middle of spring and the sun was hidden behind the leaves way up in the trees.

And Stiles knew it was hidden, because he could feel the energy thrumming lazily away within the earth all around them.

Jackson couldn't know though, he couldn't, because there was no telling how well the boy would be able to keep a secret, not one as powerful as that.

But Stiles had put Jackson, Jackson fucking Whittemore on his _ass_.

It was enough to make him want to fist pump a couple times and do a few jumps for joy because damnit, the other boy deserved that like Stiles deserved a vacation from all this shit, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"Y'okay there, Jackson? Grass is still a bit slippery."

And just like that, everything's wet, the kind of wet that sticks to the grass and the trees and the buildings and the pavement after it rains, and their clothes are damp with it where they touch the ground, like its been there four hours, because yeah, Stiles can do that.

There's a headache from hell forming now, but he can do that.

And Jackson was looking at him like he was crazy, and that was fine, because he could deal with one confused Werewolf, there wasn't much difficulty there, and for once he was happy that he got left behind with the freshly turned Were, because one was enough to deal with, the pack would have been like swallowing a sack of flour, burlap and all.

"Jackson?"

Because the wolf was still staring at him, wide eyed and a little pale, confused instead of arrogant and oh, but that was something different, he wasn't used to that, the oh mighty Jackson down for the count?

"You glowed."

That had him reeling a bit, because honestly, how was he supposed to respond to that? Laughter, laughter was good, and so he let it start, felt it in his gut, the little chuckles and snorts that escalated into full blown howls, pulling tears to his eyes and making his sides hurt, and it was bad how well he could fake that, but it was fine, he needed to be able to fake it.

Because he needed the mirth to cover up the knowing and, well, Jackson's face was pretty funny.

"Alright, c'mon big fella, lets get you to Deaton, I think you hit your head." Hand wrapping around the others wrist, he tugged sharply, forcing him to stumble to his feet where he teetered for a moment, unsure of his sudden footing before he caught himself and stood, making them eye level and oh, so that was how he wanted to play? Because he yanked away, with a grunt in response and stalked away in reply, as if Stiles was the one to blame.

And well, what, no, he totally wasn't to blame for the fact that Jackson slipped on wet grass, what, no, he would ne-alright yea, but cmon, it was pretty fuckin funny.

Things simmered down for about a week, Jackson making not one single comment about the little fiasco in Derek's yard while the others were away on patrol, and for once Stiles thought everything was going to be fine because nothing was actually happening around town that was worth while.

He hadn't even had to fix a baby birds wings for crying out loud, that had to be saying something.

Until, yaknow, things went sour, because nothing ever went right, not where Stiles was concerned it seemed.

He had too much magic in him, too much of an upload simmering just under his skin, strong enough and thick enough from the lack of use to do anything but clean his house because he was lazy and didn't feel like didn't getting up, and it was potent to the point that if he wasn't careful he could see it on his skin, shimmering and glowing faintly.

And if he could see it, they could see it.

So he kept a tap on it, mouth moving a mile a minute whenever he was around one of the pack, rambling and sassing and being his normal self, except he didn't catch a single word that came out of his mouth, had no clue what he was saying although he was fairly certain albino baby kangaroos had been mentioned in there somewhere just for shits and giggles.

Shit and giggles didn't last very long though, and fuck, who even made up a phrase like that?

It happened when he was in chemistry class, working on a lab project with Scott who was too busy mooning over the fact that he could see Allison out on the quad for her free period, so really it was more like he was the one doing the lab project.

And alright, yea, that wasn't good, that actually wasn't very good at all, because, him, touching glass and piddling around with flammable chemicals, in the state he was in?

Wasn't surprising at all when things started to explode.

"Scott, bro, I need you to read me the next step."

No answer other than a grunt, because his puppy friend was too distracted by the sight of his mate, the sound of her heart beat and the smile on her face as she spoke with Isaac about something, helping him with whatever text book was in his lap.

Distracted, so Stiles leaned over, because yaknow what, fine, he could do it himself, he usually did anyways.

Bad idea.

Very fucking bad idea.

Doing it himself involved looking away from the glass and the chemicals all out in front of him so he could look at a piece of paper. Which wasn't good, because that broke his concentration, which he seriously needed a grasp on at the moment because he was bubbling just as bad as the sodium in the beaker to his left.

Which, exploded, along with every other glass array set out in front of him, erupting with a loud shattering sound and flying chemicals that soaked the lab table.

"Fuck, shit I, fuc-" No time to panic, because if he panicked than they would notice, and he liked this school, he liked this town, he didn't want to have to move just because he fucked something up.

He did panic though, and that panic set the ground outside rumbling, large oak tree in the quad giving a wailing shudder before every water main on the lawn erupted and students rushed to the wall of window to see what the screaming was about.

Oh, alright, so panic was fine, that was perfectly fine, gave him a minute to whisper a few words and feel his body set a light for no more than a few seconds, long enough to mend the glass and slurp all the chemicals back up to where they had been, because he didn't need Harris riding his ass, he didn't, the man already hated him anyways.

So back the glass went, sliding together real pretty like and there went the liquids all back into their respective homes even as outside there was a flood on the lawn that rushed into the parking lot, and the big giant oak toppled over to land harmlessly in the yard with a deafening thud and a splash.

With was fine, because every one was looking that way, faces pressed to the windows, and it gave him enough time to shudder and feel the warmth, the power of it all, dissipate from him slightly to the point that he could actually breathe again.

And it was enough to pull a smile to his lips, cheeky and proud.

Until he looked up and met the eyes of one Jackson Whittemore, who hadn't rushed to a window to see what the commotion was all about.

No, instead, the teen was standing there on the other side of the lab, watching him with wide, dare he say worried blue eyes, like he was more concerned about Stiles, than whatever mess was going on outside.

"Fu-uh, hi Jackson."

.

Turned out, Jackson knowing made things a hell of a lot easier.

Meant he had to hide less, be on guard less, because there was someone there who always had an eye on him, checking on him, just to make sure he was fine.

And, surprisingly, the boy had taken the whole talk they had had out in the parking lot in the confines of Stiles' Jeep a lot better than Stiles had thought he would.

He'd asked every single question he could ever think to ask though, even the stupid ones like wanting to know if Stiles was really sixteen, or if he had wings hidden under his shirt somewhere. Had even wanted to know if he sparkled, like Tinkerbell, and had laughed his ass off at Stiles' instantaneous little 'Tink's a fucking Disney whore.' remark that he made before he could catch his tongue.

Jackson Whittemore, laughing.

And it wasn't like the guy never laughed, he'd seen him laugh at something Lydia or Danny said all the time.

But, laughing, at something Stiles had said?

They'd both been pretty mind fucked that day it seemed.

But, anyway, things were easier now, and he'd had to have a long discussion with his Dad when the man had come home to Jackson and him doing homework in the living room -because they were kinda buddy buddy now it seemed, but in the sense that Jackson was still totally a douche, but he was less of a douche in an 'I want to make your life miserable way' and more of in an 'I'm the douche brother that you wouldn't know what to do without'. Even the Whittemore's had gotten used to the fact that Jackson was friends with the boy, since the restraining order had been very graciously dropped. -, which had entailed a bit of a sit down, because John had rules for his new buddy it seemed. Which, was understandable, after Stiles got past the part of explaining where it was really fucking obvious that Jackson knew exactly what he was, and that he was just peachy with it, if not a little defensive.

And Scott noticed, but actually it was probably Allison who noticed that Jackson was divvying his time up between Lydia and Danny _and_ Stiles, but still, Scott knew nonetheless, and questioned him about it, tirelessly.

And alright, so yea, Stiles had been kinda a dick about it when he finally got fed up with the boy asking in the middle of lacrosse practice why he was such good friends with Jackson now, and he probably should have felt bad at the wounded puppy look that had come to Scotts face when he'd told him with a bit of venom in his voice that, 'Jackson actually acts like he's my friend, not just someone he needs when his girlfriends busy.', but still, Scott had it coming.

He was a puppy, he'd get over it and come fumbling back all jolly and wide eyed again like he always did after Stiles told him off in a mood, because this happened more often than it should have, and more often that Scott probably remembered, since his brain was wired with straight Allison-Allison-Allison.

If Jackson had noticed the magic laced attacks that he'd used for the rest of practice, he hadn't commented on it, Werewolf hearing and all that fun shit he probably didn't need to, and instead, he'd simply clasped Stiles on the back after they were done and told him they were going to go blow off some steam.

See, good friend.

And good friend who had a key to his house because uh, hey, someone had manners enough to not enter through his windows even if he did drink the milk out of the carton and forget to take his shoes off sometimes at the door. So by the end of the summer, because hey, they'd managed to make it to Juniors, someone be proud, it really wasn't shocking that the boy practically lived at his house, and that his Dad didn't even question anymore when he got home and Jackson was there, or when he went to leave, and the boy was still there.

He was a good friend, probably the only reason Stiles managed to survive the summer because absolutely nothing wolfy happened -which was really fucking irritating because what else was he supposed to do with his time, do you have any idea how boring it is when you aren't running for your life?- and because Scott had decided to flake on him for Allison instead -my oh my, big fucking shocker there.

He was still a douche though, if how he'd shoved Stiles' face in his cereal that morning was anything to go by.

"You're a bitch."

"You love me."

People in the hallways seemed to have gotten used to them, this being the second month into school and oh, but they were still talking, joking around like Jackson did with Danny, and Stiles was still on first line.

"You're a douche."

"That all you've got, Stilinski?"

No malice, which had been strange at first, he was so used to hearing his name on the boys mouth something something like contempt that it had been a bit unsettling at first to hear it in a teasing tone. He'd gotten used to it, flailing limbs and all had simply taken it in stride, because Jackson was like his Scott now, but with a different brand of faulty impulse control.

He was the Scott who had Danny disarm the security code at Deaton's so they could sneak in at night and Stiles could let out all his pent up magic once a week by fixing all the happy little animals.

So, yeah, Jackson made a better Scott than Scott did, just without the dopey look.

And the lack of dopey had been pretty fucking funny when Jackson had wolfed out almost in his kitchen one Saturday after a long night of COD, and instead of freaking the fuck out, his Dad had just looked at them for a moment, -fighting over what they were having for breakfast, because no, Stiles was not having waffles for the fifth fucking morning in a row, oh hell no, it didn't even matter that the waffles had bacon in them, lo and behold the magic of Jackson being able to cook- one teenage boy standing in his kitchen with side burns from hell and teeth that could put Miss Margaret's Doberman to shame while the other was glowing, both with glowing golden eyes, and then just continued to turn a page in his news paper.

Proceeded to then tell Stiles to fix the jar he had just exploded across the kitchen too, like it was a common place thing.

So, not dopey was good, because quiet, calculating, _listening_ Jackson was a lot easier to deal with when he made the boy sit down so his Dad could explain that, he knew about Werewolves, knew about the pack, just like he knew that it was pretty common place for said pack to enter through Stiles' bedroom window.

"Oh, and Stiles?"

"Hm?" There was a spatula handle in his mouth, because he'd won damnit while Jackson was being mind fucked, again, and he got to make the damn eggs that he had been wanting for four fucking days thank you very much.

"Erica called, wanted to know if she could talk to you, about an hour ago. Told her I'd have you run out to the Hales when you were up and going."

"Mhm."

No big deal, Erica called all the time when she needed something, someone to talk to, because ever since the whole, her having a seizure on him and him refusing to let her go even as she wolfed out on him, they'd been a lot closer, he and his Catwoman.

"I don't need you to explain why Isaac was in the background asking if Mom would bring them lunch again, do I?"

And it was Jackson's turn to laugh as Stiles was thoroughly mind fucked, arms flailing and the spatula hitting the floor with a whine of 'Daaaaaaad!'.

.

The whole pack finding out, had been a compete accident.

He had gotten so used to Jackson knowing, to not having to hide anything when he was in his own house, or out somewhere with the other boy, that it had completely slipped his mind that he'd managed to keep it from the rest of them.

And he'd been doing well too, like, really fucking well, because he'd even come to terms with his crush on Derek, and not only that, but with some not so subtle prompting from Jackson who was still a total douche, he'd managed to corner said broody male.

The Hale house was in the midst of renovations, the last stage of it where all they had left to do was throw some nice paint on the walls and find some couches and chairs that weren't covered in disgusting floral fabric, or over priced.

And, said cornering, had surprisingly taken place on the grand stairs that lay just inside the door of the newly fixed up house, because one thing he had noticed was that, as Derek had a major rule about them jumping off the sides of the stairs or from the second floor in general, he wouldn't do it either, like he was worried they would go through the flooring.

"You haven't been comin through m'window lately."

Derek had the sense to look uncomfortable, and somewhere deeper into the house Stiles swore he could hear Jackson start to chuckle to himself, no doubt able to hear them.

"Haven't needed you."

"Ouch," Wounded, because he was, that little bit of information hurt, hurt like hell actually, because here he was getting ready to pour his heart out to the broody man with his eye brows that seemed to keep glaring at him, and Derek told him he didn't need him. "And here I thought we had something special."

"Stiles," A partial growl, a warning tone that was mixed with equal parts embarrassment and annoyance, but he didn't break eye contact, cuz Derek had a thing about that, always had to look people dead on, like they were a threat if he didn't.

And it wasn't like Stiles minded, not really, because those eyes, they...God, they were something else, this pale green color that had little flecks of grey and blue thrown into the mix, like sea foam, but prettier, more heart breaking.

Leaning back, still holding onto the railing on either side of him because his arms were wide enough for that, Stiles gave him an unimpressed look, because really, the grumpy growly broody mister mister act didn't do much for threatening, even if it was hot as hell, because there was a drake that lived in Stiles' furnace, so he'd seen worse.

"Derek."

And yaknow what, fuck it, because he didn't have to deal with this, hide this, he was better than that.

And so he let it all out, let the stupid wall that he had built to hold those pesky emotions in come tumbling down, because he was half human, half human with emotions that were so strong they hurt to have, but that was how emotions were.

And they did, it hurt, how strong they were, the way that they poured from him, making his scent reek of things like love and desire and uncertainty and just a touch of wistfulness, because that seemed to be all he ever had when he was around the older man, three years his senior or not.

And the emotions were strong, enough so that it sent Derek reeling slightly, leaning back just a hint even as his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, because there, he knew, he could smell it, there was no hiding it if the way the others pupils dilated were anything to go by, the widening of black before they constricted to pinpoints of darkness that bore into his soul. Mouth falling open a bit and red bleeding into his eyes, he leaned back still, looking at Stiles with something close to shock on his face.

And, alright, yea, that hurt, that hurt more than it should have, because he put himself out on the line there, out in the open for everyone to see, hell, everyone to _smell_ exactly what he felt every single time he saw the Alpha.

And the man just stood there.

Letting go of the rail, because he had the unavoidable urge to rub his hands over his own face, he noticed a moment too late that he was falling.

Falling, and they were on the top level of the stairs, meaning he had thirty-three more stairs to topple down, backwards nonetheless.

"Stiles!"

Panic, that was panic laced with his name and Derek moved just a second too late to reach out for him, but reach out he did even as his body went tumbling back and over.

Just a second away from impact though, the kind of impact on the edge of the step that would have run the risk of cracking his head open, and he shut his eyes tight.

The scent of power and magic so strange and old it burned exploded through the house, rattling against the walls a little and the doors slammed shut with ear splitting bangs that was only challenged by the resounding crack of power, and Derek was reaching at nothing more than air, the sight of which had him jerking to a halt, body fumbling on the stairs and his nails digging into the banister to keep himself upright.

Another crack, and Stiles was there, making Lydia let out a screech from where she had been at the stove, because it had only been her, Erica, Isaac, Danny and Jackson in the kitchen when the first wave of unusual had happened, and she didn't think she'd ever seen Jackson go so alert in her life.

And then Stiles' was there, sitting on the kitchen floor with his hands tight over his head and his body shaking as he threatened to hyperventilate. And he was glowing, a golden shimmer of power and magic as old as time itself that he couldn't control, because he was scared, terrified by what he had just done to the point that he couldn't even really breathe.

And then Jackson was yelling, tearing across the room and dropping down beside the boy and ordering him to breathe, giving a cold stare to any of them who had the sense to try and step forward, and he was growling, growling and baring fangs at them like the trembling mass of limbs and blubbering words that was their pack Mom was his to protect.

"I disappeared."

It took him a few minutes to be able to breathe, long enough for the entire pack to crush into the kitchen while he tried to gather himself together, tried to make himself stop fucking radiating _magic_, and even then, there was a breathlessness in his voice, an unease that was bone deep and drew a whine from the blond teen beside him.

"I know."

"I was fucking gone, Jackson," Head snapping up, frustration and fear mingling in his words, he completely ignored the collective mixture of gasps and growls at the sight of him, because oh, right, eyes, his eyes were probably golden to the point that it would put a Werewolf to shame, a molten liquid citric color that glazed them over completely, whites and all. "I didn't have a trace, and I-I fucking put myself in the one place where we aren't supposed to go, I-agh!"

Frustration, frustration and fear and something that left a bitter taste in his mouth that was the blood dribbling out of his nose, and his head went back, cracking against the wall behind him with a thud, the magic draining from his eyes and his shimmer fading till he looked human, smelled human, like a human with a nose bleed.

Didn't stop them from staring though.

"Sti-"

"Let me fucking breathe, okay Sourwolf?" Because he couldn't deal with it right then, the way that Derek was looking at him, fuck, the way all of them were looking at him, like they didn't know what he was, or who he was. And Jackson, well, Jackson was being worried, like he always got when Stiles did something stupid and risky like that, because he'd told him about the consequences before, how it had killed her. "Let me breathe, and then you can ask any question you want."

.

If he thought Jackson knowing had been easy, then pack knowing was like breathing.

It had been strange at first, not having to hide anything when he was with them, the random spurts of power if he got frustrated, or the little blasts of startled magic when one of them snuck up on him like they always did.

And then it had become just as easy as breathing, because there was nothing for him to hide, nothing for him to explain when he got into a fight with a brownie that thought that it could help around the Hale house, because it was his pack home, his house, and he had more influence that some brownie who wanted to turn into a boggart when it was pissed off.

What he hadn't gotten used to quite yet, was the fact that, with his little decision of putting himself out in the open there with how he felt and making a fool of himself by first falling, and then disappearing on the stairs, Derek's inner wolf had decided that it was alright to claim mate.

And mate?

Yeah, being considered someones mate involved a lot of touchy touchy feely feely shit, and oh my God there wasn't a moment when Derek was standing near him when he wasn't getting scented.

And the older man made excuses to touch him, little reasons to run his fingers across his hand of put his hand on the back of his neck, nonsense reasons, like he actually needed the excuse to touch him.

Cuz, yaknow, it wasn't like he made him feel like he was going to explode every single time he touched him, what, no.

Sadly, the little touchy touchy feely feely shit never went past that, hadn't even been fucking kissed by the man yet, and that was saying something, because his mouth was sinful to look at, and that was just plain torture.

So, it didn't come as a surprise to anyone, when the pretty little tight wire that Stiles had been stretched out into snapped.

It was the same as it always was, Derek scenting him, hands sliding into his front pockets from behind him and just staying there, cheek pressed to his throat and rubbing slowly, giving him a case of stubble burn that was pretty permanent now, because the redness on his throat never seemed to fade for very long before he was at it again.

Except, this time, it was different, and Derek must have scented it, because those were his fingers, long and thick and resting in his pockets to close to his fucking cock that when he shifted his weight, they brushed, giving him enough slight friction that heat rushed through his body and the doors all flew open, floors creaking.

Jackson, fuck something was wrong with the world when he was good enough friends with the resident douche that the boy _ushered everyone else out of the house as quickly as he could_.

Stiles didn't even have to say anything to them, heard the sounds of them all peeling off the property instead, Scott complaining the whole way like he always did.

Couldn't say anything, because he was pressing back against Derek with a thrumming in his veins, because those were fingers digging into his thighs through the faded denim that he wore, dragging up across his tender flesh as teeth nibbled on the tendons of his throat like they had the right to devour before those hands flashed out and his body was whipped around, pressed tight to Derek's body by the hands gripping his ass, locking him there. And it wasn't like he minded, used it to press closer, hands grasping at the lapels of the olders leather jacket and using it to lever himself up so he was on tiptoes, looking at the man with wide eyes, waiting for him to make the motions.

He didn't do anything though, just looked from his eyes, wide and clear and brown, before down to his mouth, jerking back up after a moment, and it was all the prompting Stiles needed to lick said lips.

And that seemed to be enough, because that was a mouth on his, hot and hard and demanding, taking kisses like he was drinking from him, sipping swallows against his lips that took his breath away and had a quiet keening sound spilling from somewhere inside.

Which seemed like a good thing to do, because Derek was pulling at him then, pulling and lifting and adjusting him till he was in the air, legs wrapped tightly around the slots of his hipbones and Derek's hands braced under his thighs.

Arms wrapping around the Were's neck, finger burrowing in his soft, dark hair, Stiles' held on tight as they took the stairs two at a time, a breathless laugh becoming muffled between their mouths as Derek tripped on the edge of his bed when his knees hit. And he almost folded, Stiles could feel it, the way his body half buckled, but he let the lanky teen go instead, making him fall through the air to land on the mattress and the soft bedspread with another laugh and a bounce.

The laugh died on his lips though, replaced by something close to embarrassment and uncertainty from the way that Derek was looking down at him like he was...

"My, what big eyes you have."

When had his voice gotten so low? Surely that wasn't him, sounding wrecked when Derek hadn't really even touched him yet?

He expected an eye roll, he really did, and well, look at that, he was granted one, even as Derek folded his arms up to pull of his Henley, muscles rippling as it went to the floor.

"The better to see you with."

Holy shit, was he seriously going along with this impromptu verbal role play!?

"My, what big hands you have."

Example, going by example because evidently they had a silent agreement about mutual stripping, because he got ride of his jacket -aha, the a famed red hoodie, no wonder Derek was going along with his little game- and took his shirt off too, feeling the slight chill in the air and giving a shudder.

"The better to grab you with."

Mimicking, he had been mimicking the actions that the other made, unbuttoning his fly just as Derek did, and then those were hands wrapping around the legs of his pants and giving a harsh tug, the kind that had his body skidding down the bed a bit and his jeans coming clean off, boxers dropping dangerously low on his hips.

Blushing, cheeks burning an embarrassing bit between pink and red, the grin that Derek gave down at him was feral.

"My, what big teeth you have."

Dropping to all fours above him, bed giving a bounce, forearms resting on either side of his head, Derek's words were spoken against his throat.

"The better to eat you with."

Back arching, head tipping, another keening moan spilled readily out of Stiles' lips as Derek attacked his throat and collarbones once more, fingers turning restless and leaving scratch marks down the mans chest that healed up instantly.

They continued like that, scratches that healed and biting kisses that left the skin turning red and abused, Stiles' feet going up and his toes curling in the mattress at the grinding friction they were creating, hands scrambling down to tug at Derek's pants, wanting them off, and damnit but he didn't have the patience for this shit.

And then they were gone, and Derek was looking up at him with wide eyes just in time to see the flash of golden color there.

Stiles shrugged in response.

"I'm impatie-_ah_!" Crying out, those were teeth, latching to the pink peak of his nipple and tugging on it harshly, as if punishing, and the cry turned into a moan, fingers weaving back into Derek's hair.

He must have done something right though, because those were hands, pushing at his boxers even as his tongue ran soothing strokes across the abused nipple, and the feeling of them being cock against cock was enough to make his back arch and his head tip back.

"M-more!"

And more he got, in the form of his body being turned and pressed face first into the mattress, hands pinned above his head in a near painful grip. He pushed back though, hips wiggling as Derek's weight laid across him in a manner that was deliciously close to crushing, and Stiles let out another moan.

"Fuck me,"

Wanton words, and he could have sworn he heard a quiet curse spill from the Alpha's lips at his pleading tone.

"I need to pr-"

"Three fingers b-before I got here, so please, just..." No more words, pressing back against him instead and feeling the pressure of that mushroom head against his entrance, stretching it just a bit. Because he didn't know what else he could say as Derek gave a groan against his ear, breath hot against the side of his face before he muffled a growl to his neck, fangs dragging across his flesh with a dark promise just inside of them, making him shiver. "_Derek__."_

Hands went down in response, pressing and grabbing and spreading, pushing his ass cheeks apart and holding them there, making him feel more exposed than he did in the showers after practice.

It didn't really matter though, because Derek made up for it, taking a breath and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of his neck before he took the plunge, sliding in hard and fast and making a scream pull from the halflings throat.

Back bowing, fingers pulling at the fabric bellow his face as they spasmed and clenched, there was the sounds of something shattering downstairs to fill their ears, the trees outside rustling wildly as if their limbs were caught in a summer storm, because he was full, so fucking full, and the swell of Derek's cock was pressed right against his prostate, making him writhe against the bed and whimper in need.

He didn't give him the chance to actually prepare for it though, letting out a growl with his head thrown back before he set forward with full power, pulling out till just the tip remained before shoving himself roughly back in, earning another cry for every in and out movement he made. Staccato breathing, body twitching and arching, hips pushing back with all the force he had even though it didn't seem to be enough, Stiles made a whining sound in the back of his throat, pleading and hopeful all at once, because it was good, perfect, but fuck, it wasn't enough, he needed more.

"D-Derek, please!"

Huffing, the hands holding onto his ass moved to his waist and the slight swell of his hips, grabbing and pulling up even as he sat back onto his heels, making it so Stiles was impaled upon him.

Keening, thighs spreading and his hands flying up to tangle in Derek's dark hair, he felt tears prickling the back of his tightly closed eyes from the pleasure-pain of the stretch, teeth worrying his bottom lip to the point that it was red and flushed. Hands on his hips, guiding his movements, his body began to pulse from the intensity of it all, the heavy grind of Derek's cock against his prostate even as his own slapped against his flat belly with every bouncing movement he made in the other mans lap.

He didn't notice it at first, not till the other buried deep inside of him let out a long, low growl against his throat with little nipping intervals, that he was chanting his name, like it was a mantra, his only hold to reality in the erotic ocean he was trying to willingly drown in.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, f-o-oh!" Pulling, grinding, it was hot, so hot, and he was close, so fucking close, enough so that when Derek's hand wrapped around his dick and gave it a few harsh tugs in tempo with his bouncing thrusts, Stiles fell apart with a breathy keen. And he went boneless from it, the ropes of cum that shot up and out to slather across the bed as his body clenched and shuddered, trembling with the release he felt that had every ending tingling and his eyes shooting open as his back arched.

And they were golden, bright and glowing just as the rest of him was as a warmth waved off of his person, pressing against his skin and mixing where they touched, making the other one groan as he let Stiles flop back onto his stomach on the bed, grabbing his hips as leverage and thrusting into him with a brutal pace, one that had his breath faltering in his chest and the bed snapping against the wall behind it.

"Derek," Whining, because in his sated state, he wasn't above that, not when his sensitive body was being abused as it was. "D-Derek, come, please, I want you to cum."

With a particularly hard thrust, one that had both of them moving up the bed from the force of it, he did just that, movements faltering and his cock swelling wider still where it sat deep inside him, hot washes of cum painting Stiles' insides with their scorching touch.

He collapsed beside him then as his cock continued to swell, knotting, and he adjusted his pliant mate while he could, holding him close against the safety of his larger body as the knot set and held, locking them in place for the next hour at the least. With a content, rumbling growl low in his throat, Derek resumed his nuzzling, nipping slightly at the back of his neck and inhaling the boys scent, holding him as he shuddered and continued to shimmer, body alight with magic from the euphoria of it all.

Of course, shivering or not, the silence only lasted a few minutes.

"I...think I broke your windows."

Snorting, snuffling against Stiles' shoulder, Derek pulled him closer, adjusting his arms so the boy lay better.

"I'll fix them later."

"Bu-"

"Later Stiles. Just...go to sleep, okay?" He hadn't really been expecting a response, which was good, because he wasn't going to get one, since the words had been spoken around yawns as long as the boys limbs. So when nothing answered him, Derek let out a satisfied sigh, a smile tilting his lips as he buried his head against his mates shoulder before tucking the boys head under his chin and letting his eyes fall shut.

Because to hell with it, he'd have Jackson fix the windows.

...

..

.

It always hopes


	14. Chapter 14

**I HAVE 2 CHAPTERS LEFT.**

_**DO THE POLL ON MY PROFILE!**_

**So, uh, the last one was ridiculously long, just saying. **

**I'm proud of that, cuz I pumped all those words out in one chapter yes I did! Anywho, moving on because you have more important things to do than read the Authors Note.**

**Do you people even read this thing? Just wondering, fyi.**

**Right, kay, back on track. So uh, Fem!Stiles, cuz even though theres only 5 people on the poll so far I'd like you to know that the poll closes exactly 1 week after the final chapter goes up, and at the moment its leaning towards fem, so I'm going to get myself ready for that.**

**And screw me, I have two Sterek ideas and one Stisaac idea going through my head at the same time so theres a lot of...angst and smut and yum up there that no one wants to see, cuz its kinda messy. Totally one of those moments where if some unfortunate soul can read my mind, I'm apologizing to you right now because that is horrible. **

**But, fem!Stiles. Fun, going for a pack mom feel in this one I think, maybe a bit of damsel, I don't quite know yet.**

**Enjoy, and review please!**

**Musical Muse: Goodnight my Angel by Celtic Woman and Gangnam Style, because I'm stupid like that.**

**Sorry this one took so long**

* * *

Love always hopes

...

..

.

To a certain degree, there were things that humans just couldn't do.

They couldn't tickle themselves.

They couldn't hold a basketball and not want to bounce it.

They couldn't drive the speed limit (Stiles knew, there had been many late night attempts at this).

They couldn't make a window look really, really clean.

They couldn't become taller (not for lack of trying).

They couldn't understand what the hell was so funny about the Big Bang Theory.

They couldn't get married without pictures showing up on Facebook.

They couldn't defeat an ignorant man in an argument.

They couldn't solve any of the so-called Millennium Prize problems...unless yaknow, they were Lydia Martin, who was secretly trying on the chalkboard that took up her entire wall, hidden behind the roll away mirror.

Something they shouldn't do?

Be pack Mom for a bunch of unruly teenagers and one emotionally stinted Alpha, and his diva of an uncle.

But, well

"Isaac, I'll smack you with a spoon if I catch you eating raw meat one more time."

"Jackson, stop being a remote hog."

"Scott, you're drooling."

"Allison, target practice can wait till after you eat."

"No, Erica, you don't need another corset."

"Yes, Lydia, you look perfectly fine."

"Boyd, c'mere, you missed a spot."

"Peter for the love of God, put pants on!"

"Derek, stop being a Sourwolf and go sign the treaty with Argent."

Really, it seemed there was no way for her to get out of that one.

* * *

Being pack Mom came with a list of complications though, something that no one had ever felt the need to inform her of, because really, this sort of thing should come with a manual or something, anything please for those of the pack who weren't of the furry kind.

Lack of a manual or something that would prove to be useful apart from her maternal instincts which had kicked into overdrive due to the fact that her body had began to swell noticeably at her six months of being pregnant, and those really were already getting stretched thin, because between pack issues and morning sickness, she felt like she didn't have time to breathe, let alone eat anything that wanted to actually stay in her stomach.

Graduation had been four months ago, just in time because she had started to show, and there would soon be a difference between having a pooch and a baby bump and no, thank you very fucking much, she hadn't felt like going through that whole fiasco, it was bad enough the kind of drama she had from the fact that she was totally carrying the Alpha's pups.

Currently, the twins were sleeping, happily she had indulged this and had fallen asleep herself, which was good, because sleep was nice, sleep was something she didn't get a lot of lately what with pack members deciding they wanted to cuddle in her bed and the constant fact that she always needed to pee at the worst of times.

Worrying about the pack kept her awake most nights, that, or research or peeking glances at whichever one was using her bed at the time, or running interference for whichever ones weren't talking because of the latest fight, the usual things.

It was cold though, without Derek there, her usual bed mate regardless of whether or not she had one of the pups with her or not, and so her body was curled protectively around her swelled abdomen to offer it as much warmth as she could.

And that sleep worked, till exactly like clockwork, her body woke her up at five the next morning with the a. about to pee down her leg, and b. about to vomit onto her floor, feeling which sent her to her feet as quick as she could get off the bed and down the hall to the bathroom, breath coming in puffs by the time she got the door shut and her body situated, trashcan at the ready.

The sharp pain in her side as she vomited was written off as just that, pain from vomiting, because even before she was pregnant, shoving her stomach contents backwards up her throat was never a pleasant feeling to begin with.

And okay, alright, she could have lived without that, when almost an hour later she was actually able to stumble _away_ from the toilet and hang onto the sink like her life depended on it, odor tight trash bag seal up and ready to be taken out to the trash and her two gallons of piss all flushed away. Her head down, elbows bent, her back ached and her feet hurt, feet that she couldn't fucking see, and there was a rancid taste in her mouth now on top of the gross morning breath that she always got, which had her brushing her teeth as she pressed her free hand to her lower back for support, something, anything to ease the ache. Even though it did like, nothing, and she was left to have the ache there still even after she had showered, dried her hair, gotten dressed and managed to find her slip on shoes with the soothing jell soles that Lydia had found for her.

That was good, great, fine in fact, because on her way to the library in her trusty Jeep she only had to pull over once and open her door to throw up in some poor persons drive way, and she even made it up the stairs to the library with minimum waddle time and with only one contact grip to the railing.

So all in all her day was going rather well, all things considered since Scott was ignoring her for Allison, _again_, Lydia and Jackson were at each others throats so they didn't really have time for her, and well, the trio was so far up each others asses that they couldn't be bothered with anyone else, and God forbid she go to Peter because she was lonely.

Because Derek wasn't there, wouldn't be for a few days.

Stupid pack business, stupid Alpha's having to actually be civil over territory and sign treaties in neutral territory, which happened to be in fucking L.A.

Whatever, that was fine, it didn't really matter.

The sporadic pain in her side was still there, fluttering, and growing more constant as the hours passed and her destination shifted three times from the drug store to get her prenatal medication, the gas station because she was running low and then the little 60's themed diner down the street because she was craving a peanut butter and Oreo milkshake, and then the grocery store because, oh, pack needed food.

Stitch in her side, no big deal, had gotten them before during gym, and hadn't the doctor said being pregnant was an easy way to over exert yourself just by breathing?

Which was fine, whatever, she could deal with pressing a hand to her back while she stood in the checkout line behind her cart, brow furrowing after about twenty minutes, because no, that wasn't right.

Because it hurt like cramps, the feeling she used to get when she actually had a period and her uterus was doing its monthly cleaning spree, but stronger, harder, radiating through her lower half.

She didn't even have the heart to snark at the snot nosed seven year old that pushed past her to get to his mother with some toy in his hands, because all she could do was press her hands under her swelled stomach and lean against the rack beside her, eyes going wide and a whimper spilling from her lips.

"Ma'am, you're holding up the line."

Didn't matter, she really honestly didn't care as she felt tears burn behind her eyes and panic bubble in her throat, because that was liquid spilling down her legs, and she'd just peed a few minutes ago so no, no.

"Ma'am, will you pl-"

"M-my water just broke."

She'd never seen humans move so fast in a grocery store.

.

He'd gotten the call from Melissa.

Melissa, of all people, someone who wasn't even technically in the pack, simply the mother of a Beta.

Something had happened, and he had had to hear about it three hours later from a woman who wasn't even an active member of his pack.

Her water had broke.

Her water had broke and she had been alone, taken to the hospital by strangers and then left with a doctor that she didn't know because her OB was unable to be reached.

Her contractions had been five minutes apart, and over the little cellphone in his hand that had groaned quietly in protest from how it had been squeezed, Melissa had told him that she had probably been experiencing them all day and hadn't known what they were.

That wasn't the part that bothered him, woman had that problem all the time.

She was only six months pregnant.

Six months and a handful of weeks.

And he had told them to keep their eyes on her while he was gone, because an Alpha's mate was as much of a blessing as it was a target, and a pupped mate was one even more so.

He had told them to keep an eye on her, and she had been alone.

She'd gone into labor, alone.

She'd been in the hospital, alone.

She didn't even have her father, as the man was away at a Sheriffs convention.

She was six months pregnant, and she had gone into early labor with minor spotting, something that was enough to make his insides feel cold because he knew of the complications, had spent late night after late night reading things on the laptop with his honey eyed mate next to him, curled up in her warm, safe sleep. He had read all about the problems that came with twins, the difficulties, the mortality rates, the higher percentile for injury and 'other' that it pushed onto the mother.

The books didn't elaborate what the 'other' option was.

And that was probably what worried him most.

By the time he pushed through the doors of the hospital, his inner wolf was pacing restlessly, making his jaw clench tight and his eyes go narrow with worry, because he didn't know how to deal with this, he wasn't ready for this.

The place reeked of sickness and medicine, sterilization with bleach and other chemicals that made his nose burn and his eyes want to water.

And it reeked of pain, pain and death and coldness despite the soft, warm paint colors that they had and the soft couches and chairs, because it was cold with sickness and pain and _death_, and it made him feel sick.

"Derek?"

Turning sharply, he was met with familiar curls and dark eyes, the motherly, sweet face of Melissa looking up at him with relief on her features and he could hear as her heart beat went back to normal.

He must have looked as much of a mess as he felt, because she gave him a small smile, the kind that he could remember his sister giving him back before the fire, the kind that told him that everything was going to be fine, and she pressed a hand to his arm, fingers curling into the soft leather and tugging him in the right direction.

"There's nothing for you to freak out about, she's doing perfectly fine. There was a bit of spotting, but we've gotten that under control. We had to administer an epidural because she was threatening to split, but we've got a hand on that too, so she's doing just fine. The boys are both positioned right, there isn't any danger with the umbilical cords or anything like that, they're just going to be a little smaller than we'd like, and we'll have to watch their lung function for a few days."

His heart was racing, and for what wasn't the first time, he was relieved that the human woman around him couldn't hear just how panicked he really felt, though he was fairly certain it was written all across his face.

"Is she...?"

Another soothing smile, and Melissa gave a pat to his arm.

"She's perfectly fine Derek, just a little bit grouchy. Nothing we aren't used to from woman in her positi-"

"Don't fucking _touch_ me!"

At the shrill screams, he stopped dead, looking at the curly haired woman with wide eyes even as she winced, scratching the back of her head and tugging at her ponytail.

"Maybe grouchy wasn't the best word to use."

Shaking his head, steping forward to the door she motioned to without even needing her to because he could smell it, could feel it, every ounce of pain and anger and frustration and _fear_ that the young woman inside was feeling and it was enough to make him growl as his hand wrapped around the door knob. listening to her scream still.

"I will end you, do you fucking hear me? Come near my uterus one more time and I will rip your fucking throat out with my tee-Derek!"

That in itself was strange, the abrupt tone change that he witnessed as everything before him came into focus, his slender mate flushed and sweaty and angry on the hospital bed, her hair curling and sticking to her forehead and her eyes wet with her frustration and tears. The man between her legs, doctor, he had to remind himself that the man was a doctor, looking nervous from her threats as if he thought she would truly carry them out, looked up at him with a wary mixture of cation and relief.

A growl rumbled low in his chest, but he trampled it down before it could be heard at the sight of her, reaching out to him with hope and happiness and a relieved sag to her tired shoulders, so he stripped out of his shoes and his jacket in one go, moving and shifting them so he was behind her in the bed and holding her close as best he could, burrowing his face into her throat and taking a deep inhale as she shuddered, strong and scared but reeking of happiness.

"Y-you came," A whisper from her throat, and he pressed closer to her, holding her better and peppering the side of her face with stubble rimmed kisses, threading his fingers soothingly through her sweat curled hair, taking in more of her scent as he did.

"Always."

And it took hours, torturous hours of listening to her scream and smelling the stench of her pain and the acidic odor of her fear that had her nails curling into his biceps. Hours of the scent of blood and tears and sweat and everything else that he never wanted to smell from her ever again, and then he heard it, the first cries of one of their sons as he was lifted free and the cord was cut as he was cleaned and swaddled, screaming with his tiny lung that he was healthy and fine and damn the world for thinking any different.

It was enough to make him smile, lips curling against her throat as he held her, head ducked low and his eyes watching through his lashes as a constant quiet rumble spilled from him to sooth her.

And it was enough to make him grin like a fool as a second wave of wails and infant screams filled the air and more tears fell from her eyes as he hugged her tight and practically purred with his happiness, the little black velvet box in his jacket pocket forgotten for the moment.

...

..

.

It always perserveres


	15. Chapter 15

**1 CHAPTER LEFT**

**And uh, do the poll please? I'd like to be able to wrap things up.**

**But, hi everyone, I'm on winter break, meaning I should be able to pump these last two entries out in a few hours, probably a day or two I don't really know, but I'm getting bundled into the car friday to go get my sister so if all else fails, I'll type like crazy then!**

**Apologizing for any tardiness and or future tardiness on deadlines because I know its going to happen, since uh, well, I found this guy on youtube, named Pewdiepie, and I...kinda sold my soul...**

**So, I totally had to google what exactly perseveres meant, because I've used it before, this just isn't something I knew the text book definition to, I think I got it though. **

**Fem!Stiles, I'm in a girly mood, probably because my uterus hates me right now and I'm stuck in sweatpants from bloating, but still!**

**Writing Music playlist on my iPod, too many songs for me to name, so uh, yea...its on Supernatural by Daughtery as I'm writing this though**

**Enjoy the entry and review please, they make my day!**

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Love always perseveres

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People were often misleading, some of them by choice and others in a way that was purely subconscious.

More often than not, actually, their deception and inception were motions made for some form of self-preservation, whether it was to save face or to save someone else's hide, it was a commonly occurring thing.

People lied all the time.

And, just like people lied all the time, people observed things, all the time.

Well, a handful of people did anyways, because there were some people too caught up in themselves or their own problems to even take the time to really stop and notice that there were other people out there, with other problems too, that they weren't the only ones.

Humans were selfish though, it was a trait that had been breed in somewhere back in the dark ages probably, and with this selfishness came the fact that, most of them were just too damn uncaring to really stop and pay attention to everything else, everyone else.

Stiles knew this, first hand actually.

Early on, she'd been labeled as a spaz, back in the first grade when there was a difference between an excited child's jumping and her over-energized _twitching_.

The twitching had progressed from there by the time she hit the second grade to finger tapping.

By third grade, the finger tapping had turned into foot tapping

By fourth, foot tapping became leg bouncing.

By fifth grade, humming.

And by the time she hit middle school the humming turned into a bundle of all the things that her body could possibly think to do to let out just a bit of extra energy, things that managed to never work, though not for her physical lack of trying.

With this little bit of being a spaz and a motor mouth, and a loud mouth, she only really had a few friends, the ones that would put up with her anyways.

Those few got dropped down to one, when Jackson Whittemore labeled her a freak in seventh grade, and Scott McCall was the only one to stick around when she needed him.

Which was fine, because Meredith Stilinski was taken away from them the summer between her seventh and eighth grade years by a robbery gone wrong, and her loud mouth, motor mouth, spaz tendencies got a whole lot worse since she didn't know how to deal with the sudden silence in her house.

With all these things though, something that had later been explained to her was a medical disorder called ADHD which was partially treatable with the right medications, it made her a distraction to the students around her, and a loud on at that. An annoying loud one. And generally, people either listened to her, or ignored her, and either way, there was something in the way that they did both that she could read, something that was always the same no matter where she went, and soon enough she was able to categorize people by how they reacted.

Because for all her rambling and flailing and other annoying extras, Stiles was a people watcher.

And it came in handy, the different types of reactions she saw, because she got better at it over the years to the point that it was pretty intense, and she got to the point where she knew exactly what button to press to get the reaction she wanted from someone.

And then Derek came along and fucked everything up.

She was good with Jackson and Lydia -despite her ridiculous idolization of the ice queen of a teenager-, knew exactly what meant what with the looks they shared or didn't share, and the touches that no one else seemed to notice, the soft smiles given. Was fine with Scott and Allison, disgusted by them actually with their lovey dovey tragic Romeo and Juliet trip that she was secretly one hundred percent behind, what? And she was even good with the three Leather-wolves who were more bark than bite unless someone counted Erica hitting her in the head with a part from her own car, which uh, hi, yea, Stiles counted that, rotten bitch still owed her money for the repairs.

Derek was different though.

And by different, she meant impossible.

She knew his type, dark and broody and sexy oh my!, and she'd seen it all before, knew what made them tick and the kind of words or actions that needed to be said or done to get them to be angry or happy or sad or one of the other things she didn't mention.

Stiles prided herself on knowing exactly what buttons to push, and Derek fucking Hale had to be his wolfy self and send her system to shit.

When she said something stupid that first time, he'd reacted, that had been fine, he'd done that right, had gotten fairly angry at her, enough to snarl at her actually, but that had been it, nothing past that, and then he had been gone and what, no, that hadn't, no.

That wasn't fucking right!

She'd decided after the first couple times of this, that he had a delayed reaction syndrome or something, because for every time she would piss him off, he would wait hours or days or sometimes even weeks before he would do something, and then it would be intense when he did.

Because he would corner her, pin her against the wall by her shirt, slam her head into her car, the kind of reactions that she wasn't used to because they were physical, and people didn't tend to get physical with the Sheriffs only daughter.

And then the Gerard thing had happened, when she had gone home scuffed and bruised with a busted lip, and he'd gotten worse.

Where the term used to be able to be considered cornering, the only thing she had been able to attribute the escalation of it to was attacking.

Instead of pinning her by her shirt, he would back her up by her throat, he would throw her against walls if she said something that made him tick just right, and on more than one occasion he had lashed out to the point that she had been knocked to the floor where she bounced from the impact.

Then the Alpha pack happened.

The Alpha pack happened, and she got picked off because she was human and weak and probably for other reasons she wasn't privy to know.

They'd taken her in broad daylight, the middle of the way where anyone and everyone could see what was happening, and they'd whisked her away like it was nothing at all.

And they'd kept her for days, days and days and had tortured her like she was one of them and like she could heal, listening to her human growls when she refused to let them hear her scream, and then relishing in her tears and her wails when she finally did just that. And just like that, beaten and broken, they'd left her bound and gagged and bleeding in front of the police station, because they'd been using her to send a message even if she didn't know what that message was just yet.

And Derek had backed off completely in the months that had followed, not touching her once no matter how hard she pushed him, and more often than not, there would be a haunted look in his eyes every time she caught him watching her.

She had known from the beginning what it had meant, what it would do to his wolf, her pushing and poking and standing up to him like he wasn't anything to be afraid of, challenging him. Had know what it had meant and yet she'd done it anyways, because she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything else, and Stilinski's were like that, if they wanted something, they went after it head first, consequences be damned and everyone else get the hell out of their way.

And to have him not touching her, looking at her like she was going to break apart in front of him, and not even giving her that sexy angry growl of his once?

.

"No."

Arms crossed under her chest, hip cocked slightly and her head tilted so her chin could lift in a stubborn tilt, the brown eyed girl stood her ground.

And all it earned her was a sigh in response.

"Stiles, will you ju-"

"No Derek, I won't."

Enough was enough, because it had been months, months since he'd so much as snarled at her, and how the hell was a girl supposed to take care of herself at night if she had nothing to work with?

Walking forward while he shoved his fingers though his black hair, she poked a finger at his chest, and it was enough to make him look down at her with wide eyes.

"Cuz you say you didn't protect me, and I'll shove a thing of wolfsbane down your throat, you hear me?"

A grunt in response, since that seemed to be all she got anymore instead of his usual sounds.

"I'm perfectly fine Derek, okay? I'm right here in one pretty little piece with minimal bumps and bruises from tripping on my stairs this morning, and I'm gettin real sick of this noblewolf shit."

"Sti-"

"There was nothing anyone could have done Derek, but its been months, months, and you seem to be the only one that's still scared about this."

"Will you sto-"

"And it needs to stop, because you don't even touch me anymore, and I'm a fairly tactile person so you can't just do that shit to me, because seriously I'm fed up with you to the point that I'm tempted to have Argent shoot you in the ass if you keep avoiding me and not looking at me or looking at me like tha-"

"Genim!"

Real name be damned, it felt good to have him snarling at her, better still to have his arm tight around her waist, pulling her blunt against his person.

"You were gone."

"Derek, I'm alright,"

Voice softer, she could see it now more easily than before, the tightness in his shoulders that came from his unease, and the way the threads of his bicep trembled at their tight hold on her waist, pulling her closer to him still though she didn't mind, arms going up a bit instead and her fingers clenching in the sleeves of his black Henley.

"They took you, and I...," Someone give her some credit, but she was actually smart enough to not say anything, because he wasn't done, she could tell by the way that his jaw was popping against her skin where he nuzzled her throat, and the way that his fingers clenched in the back of her red hoodie as his mind scrambled for the words he wanted to say. "I couldn't find you."

"Dere-"

"I couldn't find you, and it terrified me,"

Quiet words of his own, spoken against her throat and they made her fingers grip just a bit tighter against the fabric there.

Grip tighten and her body curl a bit as she pressed closer to him, turning her head so her lips were sealed against his temple.

"I'm not going anywhere,"

"You don't know that."

He was back to growling at her at least, arms tightening once more and his body going stiff even as he tried to relax into her at the same time and it was enough to make her want to crack a smile if the situation had been any different.

"Does it sound like I'm lying?"

Silence, and so she repeated her statement, smiling then as he listened to the beat of her heart, steady as the jack rabbit paced organ could be and fluttering as it normally did, nothing different from its usual rhythm.

His arm tightened around her in response, and a rumbling growl flowed from his chest, stubble covered cheek nuzzling her throat once more.

"Exactly."

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It never fails


	16. Chapter 16

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**Not much to say for the note on this one, other than I hope that people have enjoyed this story, and thank you for those that've stuck with me through this entire thing!**

**You've truly been wonderful, and probably the only reason I've been able to say that hey, look at this, this thing has sixteen chapters!**

**It's kind of saddening that this is the end, but oh well, I have more things to come in the form of...two more sterek stories so far, and one stisaac.**

**But, well, read, review and just enjoy, because I have. **

**Listening to my friends playlist actually, get a different bit of music because she's like, a boss at this stuff? Currently: Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, the second part I was listening to Demons by Imagine Dragons**

**Get rid of the spaces in the link bellow, and you have the horrible thing I was looking at when I came up with Cailin**

** 2 . bp . blogspot _ 76jVt7UUOFc / TLE53ayBDwI / AAAAAAAABDY / kjkuRaAOA30 / s1600 / Aswang _ Final04 . jpg**

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Love never fails

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There was a certain time in every persons life when they knew that they were in way over their head, yet there was nothing they could do to stop this fact, nothing they could do to slow the train wreck and there was really nothing they could do to save themselves from drowning.

Because people couldn't just do everything alone, they couldn't, physically speaking their bodies couldn't take the strain of it and on the emotional scale it was enough to revert them back to the blubbering stages that everyone went through when shit hit the fan and they really started to panic.

And lets just not get into the mental malfunctions that went along with being in way over your head, because it wasn't pretty, for anyone.

There was a certain time in every situation, where it became apparent that someone had reached the point of no return.

The point where they go from wading in the water, to taking it in by the mouthful and it comes in faster than they can spit it out, so really what point is there in trying to fight it even though try and fight they do, because that's human instinct.

Fight or flight, and when one option has been taken from you, well, it only leaves you with one other thing to channel your fear and ferocity into, so you throw yourself into that remaining option with everything you have and then some.

But eventually that fight drained away and the fact that not only were you over your head, but the addition that no one was coming to find you was loaded onto your shoulders, and down your body went once more. Under the waters and just like that, you were lost in the swirling tides.

Lost and carried away by the undertows to never be seen again, till someone could drag you back out again by the scruff of your neck.

And honestly, Stiles could use someone right now.

He could use someone a lot of the time actually, but it wasn't like he was in the place to admit something like that, because humans didn't just admit that they needed help. It took a certain level of self respect and mollification to be able to admit something like that, verbally let alone mentally because it was on an entire different scale when you were talking to yourself or in your head, and most humans just couldn't.

But Stiles?

"Cmon, will you just-"

"We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is unavailable, please try again later. To leave a voice message, press two, to leave a call back number, press fi-"

"Fuck,"

Was way over his head.

Because he was fine for the moment as his fingers fluttered, ending the call on his phone, again, and holding the device close to his chest.

It was his only light in the darkness around him, the only bit of sanctity and warmth that he had in the small confines of dark and dry that reeked of things he didn't really want to begin to think about.

The day had been running fairly smoothly, timely in fact as they'd been trudging through the necessary actions needed to make sure the humans of the pack stayed safe, pathetic as that sounded because they could handle themselves. Except for the fact that they'd even been sending Allison away, the little Disney Princess with her Katniss prowess and that wasn't good for anybody, because if they didn't think she could handle herself, just how screwed were him and Lydia?

Very, actually, because he'd researched the hell out of what exactly they were dealing with, and it wasn't pretty by any stretch of the word.

It was rather ugly, honestly, at least half the time when it was hungry and lurking, because it was perfectly human looking the other half of the time.

Beacon Hill got new students all the time, to the point that Stiles wasn't actually able to keep up with the influx of people and the way most of them come and went. So, the shy little Filipino girl who showed her face about three months ago didn't come across as anything strange, just a new person in a new place, who had no clue what they were doing. Hadn't even been a blip on Lydia's radar, so no fuss to be had there, just another wallflower.

Cailin had been painfully shy, actually, to the point that, when he had actually noticed she was there in his English class and had tried to talk to her, her entire face had turned a startled red and her eyes had widened, soft little voice filled with stuttering as she told him her name.

Which was cool, he'd dealt with shy people before, knew that it was a pain in the ass to actually talk to them, and that most the time in trying to talk to them, you ended up terrifying them, doing more damage than good.

Erica had been shy once.

No big deal, he just had to talk slower, and give her reassuring smiles for the first few days, then just talk to her like she was anyone else, because shy people liked to be treated like they were normal. Not that they weren't normal, just, they were on a totally different social scale than he was, so alright yea to him they weren't exactly normal but still.

Except, he'd been distracted by her, big time.

And no, not in the sense that should make Derek growl and have the hair on the back of his neck standing up, no red eyes and fangs needed honest, there was no attraction there to be had.

It was just, her eyes.

And it wasn't even that in the sense that they were pretty, even though they were fine and simple, just black pupils and iris's so there was nothing different there.

It just...they were bloodshot, and he wasn't talking like just a few veins here and there.

This was the type of bloodshot that made his gut clench, because it looked almost painful, the whites of her eyes speckled and lined with more red than it was white that shot out of the corners ad spider-webbed from there, latching onto the roundness of her iris's and grasping tight.

That should have been his first clue.

Because as the influx of new students and people leaving continued, people went missing, and the police found their hands full with missing persons cases that piled up quickly within two weeks.

And then the bodies were found, washed up in crates in the river that were nailed together tight till they smashed against a tree or some rocks, and then apart they fell.

And then the bodies came out, gut churning mounds of thin flesh and bone, because the victim had been locked in there for what seemed like days, long enough for them to grow weak and thin from hunger, pale from the malnutrition.

There were teeth marks upon them as well, around the gaping holes where their intestines should have been, buried in the part of their body that was commonly known as their abdomen, torn and bitten apart till the skin was frayed and fallen away, lined with red and hurt.

But there were no internals, no stomach or liver or lungs, not even a heart.

And he didn't know which was worse, the fact that all the vital organs were gone, or the fact that there was evidence that the victims had been devoured.

So he went on a binge, going so far that he even managed to annoy the hell out of his mate more than he normally did, staying up for nights on end till his own eyes were bloodshot and his Adderall was the only thing keeping him on his feet, face glued to his laptop screen and the dusty old tomes he found in the basement of the library that were cracked and yellowed in the pages, reeking of old glue and fungal things.

And then things he found were sickening, Derek often threatening to tie him to the bed just to get him to sleep and leave them alone, but it got to the point that he couldn't, because this was his pack he needed to protect just as it was his town he needed to help, even if they didn't know that they needed his help.

They would probably never know.

He found things though, words that had to be translated from what he found out was Filipino, and there was the second red flag.

And so he'd told the pack of his findings, keeping an eye on his new 'friend' even as said pack took the swift motions to remove its humans from the dangerous environment, fast.

No one had accounted for him being taken directly from the pack home, literally right under there noses.

Because he had been with Derek in what was technically their bedroom, planted on the bed with books around him as the older man paced back and forth, his brow furrowed and his expression dark. Something he'd grown used to actually, sadly, so it hadn't phased him in the slightest as he'd flipped pages, reading from the language that he'd had to teach himself to read and translate. Reading and listening to the other growl because surprisingly, Stiles did like silence from time to time, if that wasn't too much for you to believe, when it had happened.

It was terrifying actually, the fact that Derek hadn't been able to smell her or do anything actually, as the large creature had smashed through the window with its feet, said talons wrapping tightly around his shoulders and clenching deep in the human flesh. A cry of pain more than one of shock, for he could see the wide splay of bat like wings and heard the shrill roar of it against the top of his head even as he let out a scream, body being pulled back through the window and into the air.

He'd screamed for him in his panic and his pain, but by the time Derek had even managed a howl, they had been bone and his head had been smashed agaisnt something, body going limp.

When he'd come to, he'd been in a crate, small and wooden the the point that his legs were squished against his chest where he lay on his side, body feeling cold.

That had been an hour ago, and before then he didn't really know how long he had been in the land of the unconscious, and really, he didn't think he wanted to know.

He'd tried his luck, calling Scott, but really, the boy never answered his phone, so he didn't know why he had even bothered, was probably waist deep in a last minute make-out session with Allison.

Sighing, rubbing his hands against his face to ignore the wet ache in his shoulders, because he was bleeding still, he took a few deep breaths before opening his eyes.

And let out a scream.

Because those were bloodshot eyes, dark and wide, staring at him through a slat in the crate, making him scream again even as he pushed back the best he could, heart hammering.

"Stiles," A quiet sound, the same quiet voice that he knew extremely well after classes and tutoring in the school library to help her catch up in time for the quarter tests, rasping and sound low, wet, like there was something in her mouth that he really didn't want to see. "Stop crying."

Oh, lookit that, he was crying.

Blindly, he pushed himself back some more even though it did no good, and a thin, tanned hand shot through the slates, grasping at his wrist and making him flinch even as his heart rate soared.

Wet, sticky, that was blood on those fingers, her fingers were practically dripping with it, wrapped around his wrist and smearing it across his flesh, holding him tight.

Shit, he was going to be sick, he was going to be sick, and there was no where for it to go in the crate so he was going to be covered in it, and oh my God, she was going to eat him, she was going to starve him and eat him and drop him into the water in this crate a-

"Ah!"

Fingers tightened, nails that were actually talons slicing deep into the flesh of his wrist.

"Stop it."

As if he were the one doing something wrong, by being fearful of his own life.

"Cailin, you don't have to do this," He wasn't above pleading, close to it actually, throat feeling tight and his stomach in knots from both the pain and the sickening realization that he was trapped like a fowl to be eaten later when he's fermented enough settling tight in his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he knows he's going to panic if he doesn't breathe.

Head tipping, he could only tell because of how her eyes moved, one of them almost disappearing from sight and Jesus, but that was even worse, she was watching him still, like he was something that needed to be analyzed and dissected.

Swallowing thickly, he tried to angle his head back, but no, she didn't seem to like that, because those fingers tightened and the claws clenched and he heard the slice before he felt it, a sickening sound that ripped and squelched, and then he felt the burn of it, the sharp pain that spread like a drop of liquid fire, eating his skin up his arm and sending the frayed nerve endings into anguish, making him scream again.

"Mother won't let me return home till I prove myself." She didn't seem the slightest bit phased by his pain, watching him with her dark bloodshot eyes and her voice still the same quiet, airy tone he was used to. Like she hadn't just cut through the tendons and nerves in his wrist with her nails, severing blood vessels as she did. Like she hadn't just made him cry out like the pained animal it felt like he was. "There seems no better way to prove myself, than by preying upon an alpha's mate."

So she knew then, as she pulled her nails free and traced them over his throbbing skin just under where the bleed was, she knew who they were and what he was, just as she knew all the other things it seemed.

Silence then, as his heart hammered away in his chest and he tried to not be sick even though he really, really wanted to.

Silence then, as she watched him with her bloodshot eyes and her face speckled with what he could now see was blood that centered around her cherub mouth.

Silence then, as her nails drew light marks across the inside of his arm, dragging the blood along with them.

"You have such pretty skin, all milky and pale. Can't blame him for liking to mark you, with skin like this." As if to prove her point, her nails cut deep once more, dragging patterns into the flesh there and making it well up, red and angry in the path of her talons. He shivered, both from the feel of it and from the sound of her voice, the words that she spoke sliding across him just as painfully as her touch. "You look prettier, bloody like this."

"Caili-"

Another cry, her name cut off as her nails went deep once more and sent a spasm through his arm.

"I want it."

.

Things were never normal in Beacon Hills.

Honestly, by now at least, he would have thought that people would understand that they were at war, even if it was the type of war that none of them saw, the type of war that none of them were ready to acknowledge, because the second they did?

They would know that they weren't alone, even though some of them already had hunches that no, they weren't really the only ones out there.

It was better though, that most of them didn't know that they weren't alone, gave him one less thing to have to worry about, since his mate had been taken from right in front of him, practically ripped out of his very hands.

He had been right there, right where he always was, and then that _thing_ had swept in, shoving its talons though the window and shattering the glass before grabbing clawfuls of his flesh and dragging him out of the second story window, like it had the right to touch him, to take him.

If he closed his eyes, he could still hear him screaming.

It was enough to have him growling where he stood, head rolling from side to side even as he looked before him at the thing, the Aswang as Stiles had told them it was called, with its long dark hair and body crouched in a deformed position.

The sight of it was enough to make him snarl, the stench of it had his nose curling, for it reeked of death and other things such as blood and the like, blood of a boy he knew and others that he had never seen before, innocents who had been plucked from their homes and taken from their families.

It wailed, loud and shrill, the kind of sound that echoed in his ears and made him want to whine, and sure enough somewhere to his left he could hear Isaac do just that even as Jackson snarled to his right.

He didn't have time for this, not when he would hear it, not when he could feel the quiet thumping of the boys heart within his chest as if it were his own, faint and slow in a way that made his insides curdle with a cold fear.

Didn't have the patience for this, because he had been without his mate for days, almost a week actually since Lydia had been keeping tally of every single day, and his wolf was on edge, pacing and snarling, growling from deep within to be free.

So he pounced, fangs and fur erupting from him as his claws sank deep and the creature let out a wail, spinning them, crashing his quickly healing body into the wall of the underground cavern where his head snapped and his fangs took a chunk out of its shoulder.

Wails, just as shrill as the first as the rest of the pack moved forwards, pushing and fighting in their haste to dismember the creature that had done such wrong to their pack, and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Erica, blurred by the haze of blood lust and red that filled his vision. Just as he saw her, she was gone, disappearing from his sight and deeper into the cave, following the sounds of rushing water and the stench of blood.

He didn't have time for any of this, as his claws swept out and sank deep into the creatures contorted chest, narrowly avoiding an arched limb of a hind leg that caught Scott, sending the wolf slamming into the far wall. And with his grasp he pulled, snarling and almost frothing at the mouth in his rage, jaws snapping as he yanked the beasts heart free, sending the organ through the air where his Beta's could do with it as they pleased, they could do with the body as they pleased because he couldn't deal with this right now. Not when he could hear how weak that heart beat sounded, or the panic of the pack she-wolf howling his name.

"Derek!"

Taking off after her, the sound of tearing wood met his sharp ears even as the two of them came into sight, his long haired Beta on her knees tugging at the front of a shipping crate, yanking at splinters and screws till the front of it came away and the dim lighting allowed him to see a sight he could have forever lived without.

No time for such pleasantries as to things he could live without seeing, because that was his mate, thin and pale and curled on his side, shivering from a chill that only he was able to see in his weakened state. Puncture wounds, they littered his skin, marred the smooth pale flesh and left gashes in it that were caked and crusted with blood long dried.

Whining low in his throat, crouching, carefully he gathered the wounded human close, a mournful sound spilling from his lips at the scent of death that tried so hard to cling to him, something that he couldn't shake away even as he staggered to his feet, fleeing sharply and ignoring the cries of the rest of the pack.

Because there was no time, no time for any of this, and nothing else mattered save for the near silent pattering of the boys heart and the slight wheezing sounds his lungs made with every breath he took.

So he ran, eyes burning red and his body strung tight, all the way to the only place he knew that could help them, help him, because this was something that was out of Derek's hands, something that he couldn't fix even if he tried.

Crying out where he stood in the doors to the hospital, rushing through them when they opened and his now pale green eyes looking about, he felt every bit the panicked human that he sounded, shouting, pleading for someone to help, because he couldn't do this, couldn't fix this with what he knew, because Stiles would never want that.

The doctors took him though, his pale, wane mate with his fluttering heart and wheezing breath, they took him and laid him out on a gurney only to whisk him away, because they could help, could help better than Derek could, and even with this knowledge, he could only stand there, eyes wide and his arms feeling empty.

That was how Melissa found him, her face worried because no doubt Scott had called her, to warn her, and Derek didn't even put up a fuss when she led him away, ushering him to one of the showers that usually were only supposed to be used by employees and gently pushing a pair of sweatpants and a Beacon Hills General shirt into his hands, because there was blood on him.

Blood.

Red blood, the kind that left rippling patterns in the water as it slid down his body, washed away from his flesh where the scalding fall hit and sucked down the drain to disappear from his sight, and soon his smell.

He stood there for who knew how long, body hunched over and his hands balled into fists, pressed against the cool wall on either side of his head, back bone cracking and his skin rippling as the shift threatened to take him in his state of distress, fangs slashing against the inside of his lower lip before he could reign himself back in.

By the time he was out and dried, dressed in the soft, comforting clothing that had been given to him since Melissa had taken his clothes to clean them for him, the rest of them were there, filling one of the private waiting rooms with their presence, already cleaned of any blood or wounds even though the stench of worry was thick upon them as he entered, collapsing onto one of the couches from the tugging that Erica and Allison gave to his hands, too distraught to even put up a fight.

The waiting game began then, for it only took a handful of hours before Melissa was back with a bit of relief in her shoulders and her voice as comforting as always.

"He's in a room now, the operation went fine. Now we just have to wait."

And wait they did, after they had all been taken to the room where he was hooked up to machines that made him breathe and IV drips and wires, more medical things than Derek ever wanted to see again in his life, because waiting was all they could do as the others were given the Alpha order to go home, because they were tired, ragged from the hunt and the fight, and Derek needed to be alone with the ragged looking Sheriff, because it was high time someone told the man exactly what was going on.

Even after he had explained everything, leaving no detail untold as to what he was, who the pack was, and just what Stiles was to him, to them, he was the only one left, because the Sheriff had to go back to work even though he had been promised hourly updates by Melissa.

And it took days, where nothing changed and Derek refused even then to leave his side, even when the stench of death left him to be replaced by the warmth and fresh sunshine that was Stiles, because he refused to let his mate be alone, not now and not ever, not after what had happened.

Days before anything changed, and then he heard it, above the beeping of the machinery and the constant _drip drip drip _of the IV bag.

A change in heart rate, the kind that had him lifting his head from where he was seated in the chair, the same chair that he hadn't left for days other than to relieve himself or shower and even those had only been for five minutes each, body drawing up as he looked at the boy with hope narrowed eyes.

A change in heart rate and a swallow, the column of the boys throat working around nothing to get in a lungful of the forced air, and the rush of relief that washed over him as familiar honey brown eyes flickered open did nothing to stop him from moving across the room, a happy growl rumbling deep in his chest even as he reassuringly took the boys hand, small smile stretching his chapped lips and the boy squeezed his hand back out of instinct.

Because they were going to be alright

...

..

.

**_Finis_**


End file.
